


Be My Angel, Be My Demon

by 4getfulimaginator



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Lieutenant Duckling, Loss of Trust, Loss of Virginity, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Other, Perfect Man prompt, Romantic Friendship, Sexy Times, Teen Romance, Young Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Young Emma Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:09:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4getfulimaginator/pseuds/4getfulimaginator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>CS modern AU, based on a Perfect Man prompt.</b> </p>
<p>They were best friends forever, and when they grew up, they became lovers. But he walked away without looking back, and she never forgave him for breaking her heart. She wants to resist him. She really does. But he answers her list a hundred times over - because, flawed or not, he has always been the perfect man for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story was inspired by two things: 2 Tumblr prompts from **kendracs** , and the song "You Give Love a Bad Name" by Bon Jovi. 
> 
> I have a playlist for it with all mentioned songs in the chapters - and a few others - available on YouTube as the [Be My Angel, Be My Demon CS playlist](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kG2iMmccUds&list=PL_ZN9RnD0hhQ_-2vUY7II1onsX6ym3r2X&sns), if you'd like to listen while reading.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Swishing her hips to "Dance Again" as Jennifer Lopez's voice blew enticingly from the old radio's speakers, Emma rustled dozens of items she still liked, she now hated, and...ones she didn't even recall getting in the first place. Some were surprises, like missing term papers from school that she'd forgotten she'd written (and quite intelligently, at that). Others were embarrassing, like the pinkest sunglasses ever made, wide-rimmed and heart shaped. Then there was the shocking... A striking example being the weirdest sort of sex toy she had ever seen, batteries missing and the... _tip..._ cracked.

She must have been drunk when she bought that.

Seriously, she could swear some of this junk had been dropped into those boxes on purpose. By someone else. Someone she would be ashamed to know. Someone she'd kick out the door and tell to get lost.

Just as she was about to victoriously empty the seventh box right into the overfilled garbage container without a second glance, her phone chirped annoyingly at her.  _Damn text messages_ , she growled to herself as she dumped the heavy box on the carpet and slid toward the kitchenette, her bare feet streaking across the waxed floor.

"Sorry I got stuck at work apologies beautiful but will see you tonight at 8?" she read aloud, her disappointed frown turning into a smile at the heart emoticon at the end of the text. Quickly, she typed back her reply, settling back down on the floor after a moment's contemplation on her boyfriend's sappiness.

He made a point to send her flowers twice a week via courier, earning her notoriety at work. He would take her out to dinner every other night, insisting he'd pay (she always offered, but hey, she wasn't about to complain when he was doing the asking and the offering). He was thoughtful and kind and funny, and he had the sweetest smile. The cutest quirks. Generous. Handsome. Oh, definitely sexy...

Pausing on that last thought, Emma wondered why Neal had never...proceeded further with her than just greeting and goodbye kisses. At first, she had concluded that he was being the gentleman, that the light touches here and there were all he could do out of respect for her.

He was great with words. But she was an action kind of girl, and if he wasn't prepared to show her how he felt, did he really feel anything at all for her?

Scoffing at herself and rolling her eyes at her own silliness, Emma rifled through old coupon books, an ancient telephone book, cellphone manuals, and grocery lists, finally reaching documents that were either typed or had her handwriting on them.

One particular paper was sticking out at an angle from another nearby box, so that every time she bent over, it either tickled her underarm or threatened to cut her skin despite her batting at it. On her fifth time dodging its advances, she almost lifted herself up to just move the damn box away ― and then she looked at it. Really, really looked at it.

The edges of the paper were yellow and crinkled. The lines looked faded. All in all, it was wreck. Probably a piece of scratch paper she had written somebody's info on when she was in need.

Her curiosity won. Pushing her current focus aside, she yanked the paper out of its hiding place.

Okay, seeing the words "My Perfect Man" scribbled in bold type on top wasn't promising. Emma resisted a groan. This was probably something she had done on a dare in high school. Her adult self couldn't have that stupid, right?

 _Number one: he has to be good-looking._ She snorted. That superficial attitude was long gone, lady.

 _Number five. Loyal._  Yeah, well...that's a dream come untrue.

 _Number eight: he has to like kids._  She really wrote this?

Number seventeen was a blast:  _he hates wearing pajamas_.

The list started out pretty childishly with disorganized, immature preferences. However, at around number twenty-six, the requests and desires started to expand, from everything to daily habits and career choices to how he should walk and how he should treat her.

Numbers forty-two through forty-nine almost made her cry.  _Almost_. She blushed hotly when reading number seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, and seventy-eight.

After reaching number one hundred ―  _most of all, he should love only me, always and forever_  ― Emma threw down the paper, growing more and more frustrated with herself.

With her past self, obviously, because she could never have written something stupid like this now.

Her heart disagreed with her.

"Oh come on!" she yelled at the ceiling. "Let's be realistic here: no man would ever have  _all_  of those qualities. Some ― maybe. Besides, fifty percent of them are pure bullshit! Like...'he likes taking care of me.' 'He likes going to toy shops.' 'He likes the music I do.' 'He can dance like a prince.' 'He loves seeing me in lingerie.' How could  _I_  have come up with half of this  _crap_?!" Huffing, she tossed the list into the trash, silencing the teenage version of her conscience that had been awakened in her head.

Even as Madonna's "Dress You Up" came on and she got closer to her end goal, clinging to the excitement behind her up-coming engagement with Neal, the thrill of finally moving out from her dingy apartment and starting a new life with him... None of it felt the same.

There were times when she truly believed that Neal was the "perfect man" for her, that he was everything she needed and wanted. When he had taken her to see the musical "Wicked," she had nearly died from happiness, having fervent appreciation for the story of a girl who had never been wanted by anyone ― and who didn't believe she was worthy of being loved.

The lyrics of "I'm Not That Girl" were taunting her now, whispering of things that had been and had ended. Of things that could never, ever be.

 _He_  could have been that boy ― wondrous and charming, with magnificent blue eyes and a daring smile that broke through her walls of stone. Not Neal.

But life was reminding her, again and again...

That she would never be that girl.

 _His_  girl.

Because he was the one who had decided she wasn't perfect enough for him.

* * *

_It was just a little toy shop down the street._

_When she had asked about it the first time, the other kids had laughed at her and asked if she was still wearing diapers. True to form, Emma had snapped back, but when the argument had died out and she was grounded for a week by their foster mom, her anger had faded into quiet contemplation._

_Of course, she didn't stop thinking about the small wooden store, the coiling oaken columns out front that gave way to a charming display of stuffed animals, antique dolls and dollhouses, and building blocks of every shape and color. The puppets swinging by their strings from the top of the window. The stunning train set hidden in the corner. She had peeped in one afternoon when she was walking home from school ― if you could call that noisy den a home. Or that pathetic congregation of stuck-up pinheads a school._

_Inside, the toy shop looked as lovely as the outside view. Whimsical and inviting and best of all, a step into the world of make-believe. "Why not?", it beckoned._

_A world where she could be anything._

_Not an orphan._

_Not alone._

_Not despised and unwanted._

_Just Emma._

_Well, it wasn't a school day today, and the sign said "Open," not closed. Then why the heck was she so afraid to go in? Why was she hesitating?_

" _Stop it, Emma," she chastised herself, pressing against the heavy door lined with bronze etchings. There was a customary jingle signaling her entrance, and with the brush of wind that swept her at her back, she plodded inside. As if teasing her forward, the door bopped her butt forward when it closed with a mighty swing._

 _The room smelled of cedar, cinnamon (her favorite, favorite spice), and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Everywhere she turned, cuddly animals and dolls with beautiful painted faces smiled, welcoming her. And the assortment of toys! God, they had everything ―_ _puzzles, card games, rackets and ping pong balls, sparkling mobiles hanging down from the ceiling and catching the light as they twirled. Wooden cradles and toddler chairs, all meticulously handcarved (or so their price tags said)._

_Sighing, Emma desperately wished she were a little girl again, able to sit and play with all these glorious objects before her. It would have been paradise for her five-year-old self, reduced to carrying around a raggedy doll she named Raggedy Ann after the cartoon. It had been the only toy she had ever owned, and when it fell into pieces after so much washing and cuddling and crying, she had nothing left._

_After peering around to confirm that no one was around, she allowed herself to touch everything in sight._

_Outlining the polished ridges of the tabletop littered with wooden curlicues, probably from newly done creations, she waltzed through the seemingly empty store, humming "Once Upon a Dream" as she imagined she was Sleeping Beauty, come to be awakened from the dreadful nightmare of her life, saved by her handsome parents with their true love for her. Unfortunately, she had closed her eyes during her dance and in one instant, her arm had clumsily knocked over a tower of green and gray blocks, sending them tumbling to the floor. Hastily, she scrambled down and picked them up, dropping them haphazardly on their former platform._

" _Sorry it's taken me so long to get out front ― Marco asked me to mark down our new stock in the back…" echoed a young-sounding, male voice through the curtain behind the counter, which most likely led to the backroom or stockroom or whatever a store this small could have. Though his words were warning enough for his eventual appearance, Emma was still startled when he burst between the fabric and opened his mouth to ask the usual "Can I help you?"_

_If it helped any, she never got to say "No thanks, I'm fine" either._

_The boy ― man ― well, he was a teenager still, obviously ― was standing still, stiff as a board, gaping at her as if she had sprung wings and become a fairy. His dark hair was tossed this way and that, tousled and stormy, and the light scruff on his jaw and cheeks meant he had to be older than her. But it was his eyes, piercing and clear and fixated, that caught her attention the most. They had settled on her face, never moving elsewhere._

_God, staring made her uncomfortable._

_She shuffled her feet awkwardly, clearing her throat before attempting to speak. "I, um…I saw the display, and I thought…I'd look around?" A slow grin stretched his lips, and the merriment there reached his penetrating gaze. Damn it, he was laughing at her too, like everyone else had always done―_

" _Never mind," she muttered before he could reply, "this was a stupid idea ― so stupid―" She nearly tripped over her own feet in her hurry to reach the door._

_He was faster._

" _Hey ― don't leave." He sidestepped her when she reached blindly for the door handle. "I―"_

" _What?" she growled, quickly losing her patience. "You think this is funny, do you?" She brazenly poked him in the chest with her finger, caring less about the consequences. Every conscious part of her was seething. "Seeing a sixteen year-old browse a toy store is an oddity in this fricking day and age, is it? Well, guess what ― I don't give a shit what you think," she spat, pushing him out of her personal space._

_Surprisingly, he didn't take the bait. Instead of vehemently railing at her or shouting in return, he bit his bottom lip and ran a hand through his hair, finally rubbing at the back of his neck. "Look…" he began, swallowing nervously, "I didn't mean to ― that is to say, I meant no harm, lass. It's just…you're the first customer who's been in here all day, and to be honest, I wasn't expecting someone like you."_

" _Someone like me?" she said defiantly, daring him to explain._

" _Yeah… A beautiful girl playing with ballerina dolls and singing Disney songs, looking like a princess herself…definitely not on my boring work agenda." He smiled shyly, glancing up at her._

_Heat flushed up her neck, and she found it hard to breathe. Getting a closer look at this guy, he was maybe eighteen or nineteen, a cross between a scrungy bookworm and a young rock star. Well, the makings of one. There was this cool demeanor behind the sudden shyness, an underlying confidence conflicting with uncertainty._

_And he was very cute. There was always that._

_Emma felt her blush increase. Somehow, he had struck her speechless ― dammit, where were her words?! "You…find working at a toy store…boring?" she stuttered incredulously, hoping he wouldn't notice her sheepishness._

_If he did, he pretended not to. "No, not really ― but there are really slow days sometimes. Like this one. There's only so much I can do when Marco ― he's the shop owner ― is such a bloody perfectionist." He pretended to scan the area for intruders. "Uh, don't tell him I said that, would you?"_

_The way his eyebrows raised simultaneously and then separately, the quirk of his lips and the twinkle in his eyes ― it aroused something inescapable in her._

_A giggle. Loads of them. She doubled over in laughter, finding the whole situation a comical mess that had collapsed in on itself._

_He was chuckling as well when she had recovered her senses, hiding a few remaining laughs behind her hand. "Ahem…" she managed to get out. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd love working in a place like this. There's something so…" She frantically searched for the right description. "…so…magical…about it."_

" _Magical? Really?" He sounded incredulous._

_She nodded. "Magical. Imagination makes everyone the same… There's a bit of child left in all of us." Her voice trailed off wistfully. "I've…I've never really had a childhood." Hanging her head, she peeked down at her feet, feeling embarrassed at the revelation._

_He lifted her chin up with his fingers, and though she should be creeped out by the intimacy of the inappropriate touch, that wariness never came. Instead, it's all rather calming, and she liked the tenderness behind his caress, as if he's soothing her sorrows away._

_Now this was the true oddity ― a stranger, giving her comfort, when her own foster parents were more invested in their cable TV shows than in caring about kids in their home._

" _What's your name, love?" he called, bringing her down to earth ― or maybe up to heaven with that wondrously rich, deep, accented voice of his. He's just wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but the maroon apron around his waist defied his sleek, laid-back attire, gave it an old-fashioned flair that made him blend into the classy environment of the shop._

_What was even more puzzling was that the boy was still smiling at her, as if he truly wanted to know who she is. Not just her name…but her. What made her who she is, the person behind the name._

" _I'm Emma." She stuck out her hand for him to shake, which he did. However, before she could tug it away, he kissed the top of it. His lips pressing over her skin, even in such an innocent location, made her heart beat furiously. The palm of his hand was calloused and rough from labor, and his grip was strong. Contrary to what he implied, he was certainly no idle worker._

" _Milady," he said with a wink and slight bow,"I'm Killian Jones. Welcome to Marco's Enchanted Toy Store, where all your dreams can come true."_

_Gazing at his wide smirk, the sincerity ringing in his tone, his blazing eyes warm and encouraging…_

_It made Emma believe that every single word he said was utterly, utterly true._

_It made her believe in happy endings._

* * *

"God, this poached salmon is incredible," Emma moaned, taking another mouthful and savoring the fantastic herb dressing. Across from her, Neal smiled, raising his wine glass.

"Here, here," he saluted, imbibing deeply. She narrowed her eyes, watching. For someone who was supposed to be happy and in love with her, he seemed to be pretty miserable. And way too interested in the wine list here.

Quickly finishing her entrée, she smiled politely as the waiter cleared their dishes, leaving the table bare. Neal kept his wine, of course, but he folded his arms over the edge of the tablecloth, a sign that he was ready to talk.

She decided to try an ice-breaker when he was still not ready to spill the beans about whatever was occupying his thoughts. "You look really amazing tonight," she tried, earning his beaming smile.

"Aw, babe ― thank you. You're so wonderful, Emma…" He cleared his throat, setting the glass aside. "Actually, that's why I brought you here tonight."

"Because I'm wonderful?" she teased.

"Yeah…but also…because I wanted to talk to you…about my future." She was taken aback by this, but she was curious as well. "You've met my dad ― you know what kind of expectations he has for me." Neal looked down at his lap, not meeting her eyes. "He wants me to become a Wall Street executive, live the high life, the works. Thing is…I expect a lot from me too."

She nodded enthusiastically. "And I support that, Neal ― one hundred percent. I want you to achieve your dreams and be who you want to be."

He sighed raggedly. "I'm so happy to hear that, Emma ― very, very happy." He flushed red and started scratching the back of his head ― a sign he was nervous. Very nervous, by the looks of it. There was a red rose on the table, two sets of lit candles.  _My God ― was he going to―_

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating an epic proposal scene like she'd seen in movies, breathless that such a moment could possibly happen to her.  _He was going to ask her to―_

"I think we should break up," he blurted out.

Her heart nearly stopped from shock. "What?"

"Emma…I've been on a path of self-discovery the last few weeks. And during that time…I've met someone."

Burning hurt strode across her chest, tightening it painfully. She felt so betrayed in one instant, she couldn't process it. "You've… _met someone_?" she accused bitterly, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. "Who's the lucky girl with whom you've been cheating on me? Do I get to know that much at least?"

He bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Emma―"

"Don't. You. Dare," she hissed. "Tell me when the hell this started."

"When I came back from New York," he revealed. "After that big trip I needed to take for work."

"And you met her then? This new flame of yours?"

"Him," he whispered quietly.

She gasped, sucking in air too quickly to replace what she'd lost. Her windpipe closed up, and she was almost choking. " _Him?_ "

Neal had at least the decency to look ashamed of himself. "Yeah… See, the truth is?" He looked around the restaurant to see if anyone was listening. "Emma…I'm gay."

* * *

Emma sighed and took a long drink from her cocktail, surveying the scene before her. The number of people present here was great enough to give anyone a feeling of agoraphobia.

What was even scarier was that this would have been her. Her and Neal. Hell, this was supposed to have been  _their_  wedding reception.

Well, that didn't take, obviously.

Fingering the short straps of her dress, she mulled over the awkwardness of just leaving before the wedding toast or sneaking away now. Shaking her head, she kept her butt firmly set on the bar stool and downed another sip of the fruity creation quickly disappearing from her glass. Oh, right ―  _she_  had made it disappear.

God, she so did not want to get drunk, 'cause this was neither the time nor place.

Eyeing the now finished cocktail with disgust, Emma started to slip off her perch ― until she noticed Neal and his  _boy toy_  ― well, now his  _husband_  ― walking to the small stage at the front of the hall, where the disc jockey was managing the music.

Her ex grabbed the free microphone and garbled, "Hi, you all know me as the man who invited you to be here tonight ― plus, how could you forget the offer of free food and booze?"

Everyone burst into laughter. Everyone...but her. Instead, her lips formed a thin line of disapproval.

"Anyhow, I'd like to thank you again for RSVP'ing and making the happiest day of my life even happier ― enjoy the rest of the night, and all the best to you and yours!"

Good lord, that improvised kiss between him and his hubby was making her nauseous. In an instant, Emma recalled that that mouth of his had been on hers, that he had told her all that garbage about forever and taking chances and seeking happiness. Seeking a partner. And all the while, he was playing the other field.

The conniving bastard made her sick.

She didn't even know how she had managed to get an invitation to Neal's wedding, but it probably had something to do with his father, who sat broodily in the corner with his own fiancé, a nice woman named Belle that Emma had met when Neal had brought her to his family home one Saturday night. Mr. Gold probably wasn't any more pleased than she was with this turn of events...but on the bright side...at least Neal had done the right thing in the end and had saved her from a fruitless marriage, one where he'd be lying to her every single day.

She could be thankful for that at least.  _Thankful...that she was alone and unwanted all over again. This was some goddamned vicious circle._

"And now," Neal shouted out, "I'd really like to go on my honeymoon with the love of my life," another round of applause, cheers, and chuckles from the crowd, "so I'll turn you over into the capable hands of one of my best buddies, who's always stood by me. Ladies and gentlemen...my best man, Killian Jones!"

_Holy shit._

Emma wanted to look away, but her eyes were glued to the unmistakable, handsome figure of the man whom she hadn't seen in years and years and  _years_ race up the steps to join her ex-boyfriend, embracing him on sight. Still as scruffy and energetic as ever.

Neal had never introduced her to any of his friends ― a sign, Ruby had said, that he was already up to no good ― and naturally, she had to find out now that  _he_  was included in that nefarious circle. Furthermore, she had been standing at the back of the church during the ceremony, and she had come late to boot, so seeing in advance that Jones was present in the current assembly had been off the chart of expectations.

_Son of a bitch. He was everything she remembered. Everything she had wanted._

"Hey, don't forget devilishly handsome, mate." Jones' all too familiar accented lilt crooned through the speakers, his comment eliciting some laughs. "Uh, hullo everyone! God, I love a party..."

Oh boy. She rolled her eyes, hopped to her feet ― which hurt like hell in these stupid high-heeled shoes ― and stomped toward the exit. She had dressed up nice, acted nice...all to bow out gracefully from her former relationship and admit to herself that she wasn't missing on anything. Looks like this was a terrible, terrible idea, of the worst kind. Why had she agreed to come to this wreck?  _Ah yes ― Victor and his therapy. She was going to kill Ruby for convincing her to do this._

She didn't want to see Neal be so happy, waltzing out into his new life with his new love, taking all of her dreams with him. She definitely didn't want to see the asshole who had shattered her heart the first time march in here and be some charming flirt who won people's awe just by smiling.

She was done with this. Done, done,  _done_.

Growling under her breath, she was nearly through the entrance when a resounding crack whipped through the air. One of her feet hit the ground with a dull thud.

"Dammit!" she hissed, glaring at the broken heel of her shoe. Then she glanced up. Every person in the nearby vicinity was staring at her, all because there must have been some microphone or spotlight set on her when she had yelled her dismay. Or maybe she had been that effing loud.

Then  _his_  blue gaze met hers, and her heart shriveled up in terror. No.  _No._

He had seen her.

" _Emma?_ " Killian Jones whispered, the microphone making her name boom and echo against the walls.

Abba's "The Winner Takes It All" began to play in the background, a very appropriate choice for the moment ― and it was all too much for Emma. Seeing her ex walk out of her life for good, seeing the man who had crushed her step back in as if nothing had happened, seeing nothing but endless turmoil and regret as her future. Being completely ignored to the point that she was convinced she was an invisible statue, worthy of nothing but silent scrutiny, mockery, and disappointment. Emotion crashed through her like a toxic rush of alcohol, and she almost couldn't breathe.

Damn it, she couldn't have a breakdown here. Wetness pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she clutched her damaged shoe to her chest. Her black and white striped dress suddenly felt filthy, and she wanted so badly to scrub all of the dirt off ― wash away all the pain, the misery, the ache churning inside.

God, she couldn't even look into his eyes. She felt embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed, and deeply wounded. As usual, she had unintentionally made a spectacle of herself. It was like she was being torn apart within, and she could only think one thing:  _run. Run like crazy._

Reacting to her instincts, that was exactly what she did, not heeding his calls as she streaked through the door, barefoot and in tears.

But it was foolish ― as always ― to assume she could outrun him. Killian looked like he had stepped out of a top magazine photo shoot, dazzling in a personalized tuxedo, hair askew on purpose to give an impression of stylish disarray, and his face was, of course, flawless. She felt like a dirty whore on display, the ragamuffin and little match girl who had been caught peeking in on the wealthy. She had tried her best to be presentable, a desperate attempt to show off her aversion to Neal and that she was so over him. But that was a failure. She was a failure.

"Let go of me!" she sobbed, tugging her hand out of his grip in the hopes that he would be merciful and relent. He didn't.  _She was supposed to be guarding herself, not exposing herself―_

"God, woman ― I just want to speak to you!" he pleaded, his brogue coming out husky and rough and  _vulnerable_.

She steeled herself against feeling sorry for him. " _No!_ " Yanking herself away, she lifted her newly freed hand and tried to slap him. When he prevented that as well with those damn sleek reflexes of his, what remained of her composure shattered. "You can have nothing say to me, Killian Jones!"

Blurrily, she noticed that this confrontation was becoming quite the scene, and it wasn't unheeded by the neighboring crowd. In fact, they were the center of attention, a low hum rippling behind their backs as people started to gossip.

"Don't I?" Taking advantage of her distracted state of mind, he pulled her forward, right into his arms. "It's about bloody time you let me explain myself, lass," he rasped, holding her firmly so she couldn't escape. His eyes flickered down to her lips, probably red and swollen from her biting them to restrain her crying. His face leaned forward, tilting slightly. Emma began to tremble. She would never, ever let him kiss her again―

"Killian, darling! There you are!" A brunette head was wading toward them through the mass of bodies gathered. Emma recognized the woman on sight. It was Milah, Neal's birth mother...and Gold's ex-wife.  _Ugh...was Killian her "escort" or something?_

By the time she had sidled up to him, threading her arm through his, he had released Emma from his embrace, all awkward and uncertain of himself. "Where did you disappear to,  _love_?" she giggled, her tone purposely seductive.

Rubbing her sore upper arms, Emma smiled tightly at the couple. From what Neal had said, Milah was in her forties and much older than Killian. Acting like a lovesick teenager in public ― and a horny one at that, who was furtively groping Killian's ass from the side ― was transforming Emma's bout of nausea into an urge to retch into the nearest toilet.

Finally, Milah realized they had company. "Oh ― Emma Swan, right?" she sniffed. "Neal's one-time female flame who couldn't keep his interest to save her life?"

Killian's expression shifted so quickly between shock and confusion that seeing the change made her dizzy. "Yeah," she replied caustically, recovering a little from her sudden anger. That momentary high didn't last too long. "That's right. And you're his mom, correct? The one who would rather go to clubs for cheap drinks than sit at home on school nights and take care of him? Or the one who cheated on his dad more times than there are days in the year?" she snapped sarcastically.

Milah's face turned bright red, but she controlled her voice when she retorted, "You have heard about me, then."

She shrugged. "Seen the photos, heard the stories. Your sex life is quite famous ― or should I say,  _infamous_." Killian was gaping at both of them now, and it looked like he didn't know what to say or how to interrupt their little dispute. Emma herself couldn't understand her sudden rise of hate for this woman, but some of it had to with the memory of being neglected. That was why she had taken such a shine to Neal, because he could sympathize with being abandoned, at least by one parent.

"So is yours ― or should I say, your lack of one," she sneered in return. "But why am I surprised? Neal told me all about you, darling. Nobody ever wants you. Why, you probably came to this alone, didn't you?"

Gritting her teeth, Emma decided on her final words to this cold-hearted  _bitch_. So she put on a fake happy face and showed her teeth. "Absolutely. I have no boyfriend, no sex life, no friends. Nothing. And you have everything ― everything but your youth and a man who wants you for more than a one-night stand." She grinned triumphantly at the fury in Milah's eyes. "By the way...a word of advice? Killian here knows nothing about commitment, so he's a perfect addition to your list of fuck buddies. Don't worry ― he'll take you hard and then leave you hanging high and dry. Just the way you like it."

Milah looked ready to claw at her, her fingernails digging into Killian's arms. He, on the other hand, was open-mouthed and staring, a hint of raw anguish in his eyes. Ignoring that, Emma turned on her heels and walked away from them both. His new girlfriend was viciously mad and no doubt harping on about her to him already.

No matter. This time, she had left him behind.

And she couldn't care less.

Entering the sunlight and fresh outside air, she skipped gingerly down the stone steps and hailed a cab, closing yet another chapter of her life.

Maybe it was time to write a new one.

* * *

" _You're legally emancipated?" Emma gawked at him, looking very adorable in her red cardigan and simple white jeans. Killian grinned at the sight._

_Then his thoughts retreated to her question. He chuckled, remembering the moment in the courtroom, when he had been declared an adult. "Aye, I was ― my brother Liam helped me. He's in the army, so even though he's much older than me, he wasn't around often enough to be considered my legal guardian. It was either my drunk of a father," he could hear his tone harden, "or foster care. I chose neither."_

_She sipped her hot chocolate slowly, whipped cream tinging her upper lip in the process. Licking it away before he could comment, she bit her bottom lip shyly and looked away. He raised his own serving of the beverage toward her in a mock toast and downed what was left. "I wish...I could do that." Her half-smile was sad. "Except that I have no job and nowhere to go. Plus, the state always moves me from home to home when nothing works out."_

_For three months now, Killian had been seeing Emma in and outside of the toy shop. Though at first she was closed off and not willing to talk, he soon coaxed her into a friendship, one that made him eager to leap out of bed in the morning and get to work. The sooner he spoke to her...saw her...the better he felt. And God above, he loved making her smile. She never did enough of that._

_He just loved being around her._

_Musing on the wistfulness in her expression, an idea struck his mind. "Well..." he started tentatively, "I could ask Marco...if he'd hire you part-time at the shop. Like me."_

_She raised her head, and her gaze was so hopeful it made his chest hurt. Had no one ever offered her kindness of any sort? "Really? You'd do that?"_

_Imagining being with Emma all the time, watching her come alive around the things she loved... Killian nodded enthusiastically, wanting this scenario to be real. "Aye ― but I must warn you...the pay isn't much. Just enough for food and things―"_

" _I'd get by." Then her expression fell. "I guess I could save up for an old car meanwhile, so I'd have somewhere to sleep..."_

_His pulse pounded and throbbed as he blurted his next suggestion. "Or you could live with me."_

_Her eyes immediately narrowed. "What?"_

_Hands held up placatingly, he explained, "I rent a studio flat. There's not much space, but I have a cot...and there'd definitely be room for one more."_

" _But we barely know each other," she argued, sounding suspicious of his offer. Such a distrusting lass._

_He rolled his eyes. "Love, we'd be roommates ― a perfectly acceptable arrangement in today's society. And I'd be a gentleman." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'm no pervert, lass. Just a friend...who'd like to give you a hand...help you find your way."_

" _A friend?" She breathed out the word as if it were an unreachable thing, so distant that seeing it come closer to her was a miracle._

" _Aye." His voice dipped down, low and thrumming. She obviously had no idea about the effect she had on him ― which was just as well, as she would never even consider moving in with him if she knew. "You're my friend. As I am yours, Emma Swan." He tried not to dwell on how being hers, in every sense, would feel. The very instant he had seen her in Marco's, he had fallen head over heels like some dolt in a trashy romance novel._

_Bloody hell, he would do anything for her._

_Several minutes passed before she spoke again. He barely inhaled, desperately waiting on her answer. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try it. I'll...I'll call my social worker tomorrow." Then she stared at him, searching his eyes. "I don't want to be any trouble, Killian. Are you sure...this is alright?"_

_He swallowed hard, longing to take her hand in his and persuade her that she was most beautiful creature he had ever seen. That she was worth chasing to the end of the world. That at any cost, he wanted her to stay. "'Tis no trouble ― Marco's an agreeable, understanding man...and I, for one, believe it an honor to help you."_

_She blushed. "You're doing it again."_

" _What?"_

" _Talking like that."_

" _Like what?"_

_Her cheeks grew redder. "Like I'm a great lady and you're some sort of knight, wanting to win my favor."_

_He leaned in, feeling a strong urge to kiss those lush pink lips of hers. "What if it's true?" He could feel her breathe onto his parted lips, warming his mouth. "What if you're my princess?"_

_Emma's gaze was so bright, and when a solitary tear trickled down her nose, she turned her face away from him. "No one's ever wanted me to even be their kid or part of their family. Why would you like me at all?"_

_Curbing his fears, Killian gently cupped her face in his hands, pressing his forehead against hers when she closed her eyes. "Because you and I...we understand each other all too well." He was only nineteen ― foolish, awestruck, and captivated by the girl in front of him. But he would be that knight for her, if she would let him. "I've never met anyone like you, Emma Swan. Never mind what all those idiots say ― you're special to me, darling. And I ― I don't want you to go."_


	2. Part II

  _The first time he saw her unclothed was the day he had come home early from work._

_Thanks to Emma's innovative ideas and her knack for business, the toy shop's profits were flourishing, especially when she'd introduced the weekend playtime event that had kids flocking from the local library into their store. Marco was quite taken with her. She was a natural with children, really ― and Killian was as enchanted as the parents themselves, admiring how she'd quiet down the little tykes and get them to sit still while she told stories and made toys come alive._

_Maybe that was because she was happy. He liked to think that, after the emancipation issue had been solved and she was in charge of her own destiny, she'd found happiness for herself._

_Then there was their flat. Somehow, they'd managed to turn that many square feet of space into a cozy nook where they laughed, learned, and lived together. They'd have movie nights and book nights and conversations of every kind. He taught her how to cook, they split the cleaning between them, and when they had free time, they'd go for picnics in the countryside. She had contacts now instead of glasses. She had graduated from high school a year early, having challenged her junior class with top marks. She was eating regularly, taking online courses, and attempting to design toys of her own. He was taking some classes at the local college, wanting to get into business school. Eventually, they had upgraded to a two-bedroom apartment, because they could now afford it._

_For Killian, life was heavenly. Because he had Emma._

_Naturally, the other part of his attraction to her had never gone away, though he'd done his utmost to suppress it. That honorable façade kind of ended when he walked in to see her disrobed, hair wet from the shower and her soap, scented with sweet peas and roses, engulfing his senses._

_And worst of all, she didn't say anything. Dear God, they'd been residing in the same place for nearly two years now, and this had never happened before._

_Instead, she murmured, in the most sultry tone he'd ever heard, "Killian...you're staring."_

_He swallowed hard, familiar heat traveling downward. But he couldn't speak. All he could see was every perfect curve, every inch of perfect skin. All of which belonged to Emma. His Swan. The girl he had loved since the moment they'd met._

_Striding forward, he pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers._

_The very air imploded. Not only she responded to his kiss, letting him explore her mouth as passionately as he could, she was unbuttoning his shirt as rapidly as he was hauling her body against his. It could have been seconds or minutes before they were both bare, panting and pressed into each other's arms._

" _Have you ever done this before, my love?" Killian croaked, clearing his throat. She giggled at that. But it was the way she stroked his hair and nuzzled his neck that dismissed his doubt that this was the heat of the moment, that she didn't really want this. Didn't really want him._

_Her face was pensive, bravado long gone. "I'm a virgin," she whispered, looking embarrassed. He would rectify that immediately._

" _'Tis nothing to be ashamed of, Emma." He beamed at her. "I'm honored to be your first." Then, unable to resist, he bent his head and kissed the swells of her breasts. "And your only, if I'm lucky," he mumbled over her skin, skimming upwards along her neck._

_In reply, she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him again like there was no tomorrow. Slowly, he guided her to his room, laying her down on the bed. Carefully, he lowered himself onto her, and when she hesitantly curled her legs around his waist, helping him to feel her in the most intimate of ways, he groaned._

" _I've been waiting for you for so long, Emma," he said brokenly, kissing up her chest._

_She tugged at his hair and lifted his head up, her mouth seducing him at every turn. "Then let me see what I've been missing." Grinning, she arched her back, inviting him to take his fill of her._

_But he wanted her to say it. He wanted to know, for certain― "Say you want me, Emma. Say you want this. Tell me, or I'll stop."_

_The back of her fingers caressed his cheek. Green eyes fixed on his, she whispered tenderly, "I love you, Killian ― so how could I not want you? I want this. I want this more than words can say." She led his hands back to her breasts. He sighed. "You brought me home. You make me happy."_

_Softly, he pressed his lips to hers. "I...I've always loved you, Emma. And I always will. There will never be any home for me without you in it."_

* * *

_They didn't go out that night. Or the following morning. When Killian reminded Emma that they were due for work, she had slipped out of the covers, refused to put on any clothes, and told him to call Marco and tell him they were taking the day off._

_Seeing that gorgeous smile...how could he refuse her?_

_Also, the fact that he was hard and wanting by the time they got back to his bed, her hands all over his body like his were all over hers, was a helpful second reason to stay home._

_Fortunately, no one called to complain about all the moans, grunts, and screams that came from his bedroom that night. And the following day. And the night after that._

_From then on, they added a new item to their agenda of things-to-do: the art of love-making._

_Needless to say, with all of the daily practice they got, they became quite proficient._

_They never again told anyone their evenings were free._

_And to be sure, their neighbors had a very hard time looking them in the eye from then on._

* * *

Graphic design had never really been her thing. But aside from the bounty-hunting she had done in her mid-twenties, this had been her goal. Her hard work landed her in one of the ten top design firms in the country. And now she was experienced enough to work mainly from home, a growing entrepreneur with her own office branch and a sweet five-figure salary in addition.

That part of life was... _okay_.

Of course, now that she was single again, there was no need to move any of her boxes out. No need to move out at all. Still, twenty had diminished to five, amazingly enough. All of the menial stuff ― cooking supplies, furniture, toiletries ― was still in place, but as for personal things... Emma had never been a store-it kind of girl. Plus, accumulating possessions meant accumulating an attachment to those possessions. She wanted neither.

Even her work office was very austere.

"God, your cave is gloomy. You really need to get at least some paintings on the wall. Or some family photographs. Ever thought of having a pet?" Ruby Lucas leaned against the open doorway, a smirk on her face as she paraded into Emma's solitude.

Emma peered at her from under her glasses. "I'm too busy to take care of animals. I don't do photos. Paintings are abstract bullshit at best. Besides, shouldn't you be busy mooning over Victor?"

Ruby waved her hands in defeat, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Okay, okay ― never mind." She slapped a stack of manila folders down on the walnut desk. "Back to business, then. New clients on top, old clients on bottom."

"Thank you," she replied briskly, flipping through the first few before returning back to the project she was currently working on.

Someone cleared her throat expectantly. Emma looked up. Ruby was still standing there, one brow raised.

"Yes?"

"Um..." Ruby fiddled with the red tips of her chestnut brown hair. "There's one more client. A new one."

"You gave me all the info already?" she affirmed, pointing at the stack of folders. Ruby shook her head.

"This guy's...special. A top executive of a leading design company. A six-digit figure player, alright. Head of his field. Insisted on―"

Emma interrupted, "Ruby, look...he may be God's next gift to mankind, but no matter what he's offering, he has to wait in line the same as any other client we get. Just...make a file for him, okay? I'll skim through his preferences tonight."

Ruby bit her bottom lip.

She groaned. "He has conditions, doesn't he?" Laying her head on her arms, Emma covered her face in exasperation. "What is it he wants, Ruby?" Her voice was muffled.

"He only gave his company's profile ― had them fax their criteria over. Said he wants to introduce himself in person and have a face-to-face consultation."

"You told him we charge extra for that, didn't you?"

"Yup. Didn't concern him in the least. He's willing to pay twice our rate for the soonest possible appointment ― at our earliest convenience, of course."

"Of course," Emma retorted sarcastically. Thinking it all quickly through, she mulled over whether the lucrative bonus job was worth it. She already had more than ten commissions on a waiting list, two of which should be finished tonight, and she was only in the office twice a week these days. Making her team put in special effort to come here and schmooze Mr. I-Have-To-Have-Things-Done- My-Way was going to be a pain in the ass, no doubt.

Emma Swan just didn't do diplomatic intervention when it came to work. She liked to be straightforward and pragmatic, and most of her business associates appreciated that approach.

Obviously, this guy didn't.

But business was business. If he was wearing the big shoes in her area of expertise, the consequences of shoving his offer back in his face could be dire. She shuddered. She had worked way too hard to build her firm up, only to lose it now because of imprudence.

"Okay ― have him come in on Tuesday. August should be here then." Sighing, Emma peered back down at her half-finished design, wondering if a pint of ice cream would make her artist's block go away sooner.

When she glanced up again, Ruby was  _still_  standing there.  _Goddamn it._ Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma grimaced and asked, "There's something else, isn't there?"

She shrugged innocently. "Just one little, tiny last request."

"What's that?" Annoyance leaked into her tone.

"He doesn't want to meet with anyone else but you."

* * *

_Emma knew what kind of women men like Killian Jones would go for. Heck, he had the tongue of a poet, the body of a god, and the manners of Mr. Darcy in "Pride and Prejudice." With deep blue eyes and a striking visage, he was everything a sane woman would want. Only a model-like beauty could balance him and not be left to bask in the awe he inspired._

_Which was why she still couldn't believe he was hers. Totally, explicitly hers._

_On the days they worked together in Marco's shop, she would completely lose her senses. When she turned on some quiet Disney background music or classy lullabies, Killian would sneak behind her and draw her into a waltz, whirling her about the room while she squealed in surprise and delight. He never was able to leave her alone in one corner of the store, always invading her space by scanning over whatever little sketch she was working on, stealing a kiss here and there. Though some days were flooded with customers going in and out of the store, buying everything from children's furniture to wooden chess sets, there were those odd rainy days where she and her boyfriend were all alone in the store, huddled in the backroom as they shared a cup of coffee and chewed over bearclaw pastries and their future plans._

_Then there were moments where Killian was something of a daredevil. For example...that time she accidentally spilled coffee all over her shirt. She had withdrawn into the tiny locker room where they stored their things during work hours, hoping to wash out the stain in the small sink there. Unbeknownst to her, he had followed her, on the point of asking if she needed a hand._

_Seeing her shirtless, with only her simple black bra left on, somehow had had the effect of him being starstruck and speechless. Even though, she had teasingly commented at the time, he had already seen her naked._

_It was a good thing that it was pouring madly outside, thunder and the might of the sky beating down the roof. It was a good thing Killian had put up the "closed" side of the sign when they had simultaneously peeked through the window to assess the state of the weather. It was a good thing that they were together during the storm, safe and dry._

_Turned out they could feel at home in other places besides their apartment._

_Her back pressed up against the wall, bra bunched up over her breasts, free and bouncing as she angled herself forward to kiss him. Their joint heavy breathing creating a staccato beat that echoed across the soulful yearning of Tracy Chapman as her "Fast Car" rolled over the radio. Killian moaning her name as his mouth sought her skin with the frenzy of one starved, her hands tracing the lines of his bare muscles with fervid need. Her lips on his hair. His grunts and her cries as they fell into each other._

_When the near end of Madonna's "Crazy for You" reached their ears, their bodies were covered with lustful sweat, her face hidden in the crook of his neck as he held her to him during the after-haze of their passion. He found them a blanket and a corner of the store where they could lie down and listen to the rain patter steadily. God, he had made sex something she couldn't live without ― he was that good. When he made love...he literally made love, binding their souls together._

_So, of course she wasn't satisfied with just having him once._

_He agreed wholeheartedly._

_When it had started hailing, they didn't care. They were louder than the hail._

_Of course, aside from idyllic moments like these, there was work to do, hopes to be realized. Sometimes she found it hard to acknowledge that this was her real life, that it wasn't a lovely dream that could be torn away from her any minute. That Killian really and truly loved her as much as she loved him._

_These past two years hadn't been easy. In fact, they had been as tough as walking through hell. But he had stood by her, comforted her, supported her, encouraged her, and believed in her. He had done all that, expecting nothing in return. Friendship that powerful...well, love that powerful...it was incredible._

_And yet, it was hers. He had shared his heart with her, a girl who had lost her way._

_That was why, when they were alone and he was showing her what it meant to be a lover, she felt that her own heart was beside his. Theirs was a slow romance, one that had almost broken the both of them with impatience, worry, and self-doubt. Nevertheless, they had survived. And so had their feelings._

_Maybe she was a little too old to believe in true love. After all, she was a woman now._

_But the girl she used to be still did._

* * *

She really had made an effort today. Her best earrings, two-piece suit, and perfectly applied make-up. Her hair curled into a simple but elegant do that complimented her style. Putting on her best professional smile, Emma grinned at the mirror before turning to face the door, a frown now pulling at her lips.

God, how she hated things like this. But it came with the job, so here went nothing―

Ruby was right outside, August at her heels. "They're already here, boss."

Emma did a double take. "Wait ―  _they_?"

She nodded frantically. "They. He brought his assistant with him, or something."

Snorting, she eyed August for approval. "Think you can man the fort while I deal with these two?"

Paralegal, computer technician, and masterful artist, he had very talented hands and even more talented penmanship. He made business proposals sound like Machiavellian treaties and simple letters sound like sonnets. Right now, however, he was yawning like crazy and rubbing at his eyes. "Sure thing, Emma."

She sighed. It sounded like she was on her own with this. "Ruby," she gestured toward their small conference room, "if you would be so kind..."

Her secretary went in first, and she could hear Ruby introduce herself, announce their office's name, Swan & Co., their objective, and then...

Taking that pause of silence as her cue to enter, Emma knocked twice on the door, smoothed her hair over one last time, and pulled on the doorknob. Ruby gave her a reassuring smile before nodding and taking her leave.

Trying to look bright and enthusiastic, Emma chirped, "Good morning, gentlemen ― I'm Emma Swan. First of all, thank you for choosing my firm..."

As she droned on with the usual platitudes and formalities, she noticed a short, whiskered man in the corner, business suit askew and his eyes wide open. The chair at the end, the one that swiveled and was plush leather (only the finest for her clients) ― its back was facing her, so she couldn't see her guest at all.

She groaned inwardly.  _What she did for money..._  "Now, whom do I have the honor of working with?" she said with a sweet smile, hoping her client really wasn't an inflated ass and would just  _turn the hell around_.

The gears of the chair swished suddenly, and she felt that with that brief gush of wind, the air was taken out of her lungs entirely.

God,  _no_. No, she must be dreaming, having some horrible nightmare. One that was going to end.  _Right now_.

"Killian Jones," he answered smoothly, his voice not faltering for one instant. "Executive CEO of The Avid Gilder." His hands rested on the table, but she could see that every muscle beneath his tailored suit was tense, his perfect tie straining his neck.

_Because not telling any of her co-workers about her past love life was of course coming back to bite her. Hard._

His expression was searching and eager. Hers was probably horrified and shocked and full of dread.

Clucking his tongue appreciatively as he slowly perused her figure, Killian sat up straight and interwove his fingers together as his elbows hit the wooden surface, propping his arms up. His wide, confident smirk made her blood boil furiously. "Miss Emma Swan... It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he drawled glibly. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this opportunity." His gaze glittered, and she took this as a sign to make things more discreet.

Indicating his companion, she smiled weakly and asked, "And this is...?"

"Smee. William Smee, Mr. Jones' assistant, at your service, ma'am." He looked like he was about to sweep off a nonexistent cap and bow to her, barely restraining himself after a pointed look from his employer.

Emma badly wanted to cover her face with her hands and just wish this situation away. Instead, she had to be the adult and go through with it. Swallowing hard, she tried a welcoming stance. "Well...Mr. Smee...I think I'll be fine discussing the terms and rubrics with Mr. Jones here. Why don't you join Ruby outside for a cup of coffee? She even has donuts, if you're that kind of man."

Shoulders relaxing gratefully, he peeked at Killian for confirmation. He gave it with a slight nod. Bumbling out the door, he gracefully closed it behind him, leaving them alone. Together. God, the last time they'd been alone together, he had been underneath her as she had―

"I see you haven't changed a bit, lass."

She bit her bottom lip, shrugging off the last bit of pretense. "I could say the same. Deception still looks good on you."

He scowled at that. Shrugging, she stepped toward the windows that overviewed the great bridge joining the peninsula to the mainland, spanning a wide, turbulent river. The panorama never failed to bring her a sense of power and rightness, like she had found her place in the order of things. Maybe.

She hadn't lived with him for that long without being able to sense when he was near her. The moment his presence right behind her back became overwhelming, she snapped. "I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you again," she spat out coldly, giving him an icy glare.

His eyes were cloudy. "But  _I_  needed to see  _you_ , Swan." Tentatively, he reached out and fingered a wayward curl that had escaped her hair pins.

She slapped his hand away, half-smirking when he winced from the burn of that contact. "Really? Your girlfriend isn't enough for you?"

The corners of his lips twitched, but his countenance remained dark. "What girlfriend?"

She shook her head, unamused. Who the hell did he think he was, that he could just march in here and play more games with her? "Judging by how cozy she was with you the last time we met, I'd say Milah is really jealous right now on account of the effort you made to find me again."

"Milah..." He rolled his eyes, pulling on his tie slightly as he tapped his fingers on the table. "If you must know, Neal invited me once to one of his family dinners ― his engagement party, actually. Said that me being there would settle his nerves a bit. I met his mother there. She's a terrible flirt, but I saw no harm in being her date for the wedding. She and I...it was a one-time thing. Whatever her history, Milah's a lonely woman, and she deserved―"

"I don't want to hear it," Emma gritted out, feeling sickened by the thought of Killian sharing his bed with her.

Now he grinned. "Jealous, love?"

"Ugh,  _no_ ," she denied. If he had come here to gloat... She crossed her arms over her chest. "Look, I don't know what possessed you to set this whole meeting up, but this is where personal conversation ends. Tell me right now what level of  _professional_  interest you have in all this, or this appointment is over."

Pouting like a little boy, he rifled through his briefcase, which was resting near his seat, and pulled out a folder. "Despite what you believe, my work proposal is genuine. The Gilder needs a new logo to go with its upcoming upgrades, and from what I've learned, you're just the artist to do it, Emma." He slid the portfolio to her.

Scanning its contents, she calculated the amount of creativity and raw technical labor that would be involved in this. "It's  _Ms. Swan_ , Mr. Jones."

At her curt tone, he hung his head, his arrogant façade dropping as well. "By the way...I think you should know...that I've been searching for you for a long time."

She snorted in disbelief. "Sure you have. And you looked hard ― so very hard, that we knew the same person and our paths never crossed all this time."

"Believe what you will, but Neal never spoke of you. His dating life was his own, and he always kept mum about it to all of us. The guys, that is," he clarified, rubbing the back of his head anxiously.

One last shuddering breath. Her eyes closed, and she willed the pain away. Willed all the memories away, until there was only the here and now. Where she was by herself and trying so determinedly to leave her past behind her. "Well...what does it matter?" She could hear how defeated she sounded. "It's over. He's married. And I'm back to where I was before I met him: bitter ― and  _alone_."

When Killian lifted her chin with his fingers, so softly and gently as he had when they first met, she bit back tears. God, she  _hated_  him ― but...but...  _How she had loved him then. Why was there no forgetting him?_

His voice was husky and deep when he uttered, "No. You're still you. You're thoroughly, purely Emma. Beautiful. Talented. A brilliant, amazing, strong woman. A woman who―"

 _Who used to be mine._ She knew that was what he would have said, had she not walked away from him, her heels clicking against the floor.

"Maybe you should put that tongue to use where it is needed, instead of seducing innocent girls and then abandoning them at the altar."

His eyes filled with self-loathing. "I didn't want to leave you, Emma―"

"But you did!" she shouted angrily, clenching her hands into fists. "You said you  _loved_  me ― you promised to  _marry_  me ― and then you took off without another word, deserting me! You  _betrayed_  me, Killian. You  _lied_  to me. You're like everyone else I've met who's hurt me." She was having a difficult time not punching him in the face. "How can you not understand," she finally continued, feeling so broken inside, "that I want  _nothing_  to do with you?"

The room was as silent as the grave. His hands were embedded in the pockets of his pants, and he was staring at the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Stifling a sob, she clasped her hands together and attempted to recover herself. To be cool and collected, so she would still have a job by the end of this. After all, Killian Jones meant nothing to her.  _He meant nothing._

"Let me make this absolutely crystal clear." She raised her head, gazing at him firmly. "You mean  _nothing_  to me. Whatever we had together is  _dead_." Her tone was acidic, cutting, and as cruel as she could possibly make it.  _Good_. "I accept," she said shakily, "your business proposal. My firm ―  _I_  ― will have the assignment completed within two weeks. August will discuss the legalities with you in a moment."

Then she carefully walked toward him, until there were only mere inches between them. "But during that time, you will  _not_  speak to me. You will  _not_  meet with me. You will  _not_  see me. We are  _done_  ― I'm  _done_  with you. If your company has questions and concerns that need personal attention, send Mr. Smee. Do not seek me out."

Killian was absolutely still. He had offered no excuses, no explanations. He had not argued with her or tried to convince her of his innocence. No, he had stopped short at her first accusation, and like a coward, had refused to put up a fight. She was disappointed in him. She thought he was more than that. Or perhaps...perhaps she really had been duped by him from the beginning. Perhaps she was that much of a fool.

Scoffing as she flung open the door, she looked back one last time at the former love of her life, the man who had destroyed her dreams. He had a haunted agony about him, an aura of sadness that was overshadowing her as surely as the clouds outside did with their impending storm. "Good-bye, Killian Jones," she said as commandingly as she could. "Don't ever dare to come back here again."

And without another word, she stepped away, hiding in the restroom until she felt certain he was long gone, taking his charming lies with him.

* * *

She took the rest of the day off. She ran to her apartment. She hid in her bedroom, crying as the gathering rain showered down.

Worst of all, she could feel it. She could feel grief and torment rear their ugly heads and tumble down onto her. She was helpless to resist their pull. All she could hear was the last thing he had said to her before she exited the conference room, demanding he leave.

_As you wish._

So she mourned ― for herself...and for him.

Because that was what broken hearts were doomed to do.

* * *

Ruby and her blind dates.

Ruby and her double dates.

Ruby and her crazy, wild, ridiculous ideas.

Emma had only surrendered after the girl had pleaded almost on her knees to give her latest find a chance. After all, Emma would be going along with her and Victor, and it's not as if she would be alone for the ordeal.

_Say that to the couple who was obviously and oh so madly in love._

"So, Emma...did your ex-fiancé ever return to haunt you?" Victor Whale took a sip of his wine, hacking hoarsely when Ruby sharply nudged him with her elbow. Emma coughed on hearing the question, but she wasn't that surprised. Her secretary wasn't known for keeping secrets well, having a tendency to spill the beans more often than not.

"Well..." she sputtered awkwardly, glaring at her friend.

"I mean, didn't Neal at least apologize for stringing you along when he was aware of his, uh, orientation?" the doctor inquired, looking serious and almost... _concerned_.

Emma was taken aback, but she tried not to show it.  _Poker face_. "Um...yes, actually. But it was kind of hard to listen to him say he was sorry...when I was too busy throwing every gift he ever gave me at his face."

Victor laughed at the picture she had painted, his white teeth and dark blonde hair catching the low lights of dim club. For an ER doc, he took very good care of his appearance. When Ruby had first introduced him to her, Emma had been more than skeptical of his profession, wondering how someone who looked like he could be a fashion model was somehow a good doctor. But then she had been forced to visit his ER when Ruby had had an allergic reaction to a bee sting. Seeing him in action, calm and compassionate among patients who were crying and screaming from pain, had made her opinion of him change.

That didn't happen too often, if ever. But now she didn't doubt that Ruby was in capable hands ― and company.

Speaking of which, that woman was currently frowning at her, her lips twisted into a firm pout. Emma could already hear her scolding:  _Shame on you, thinking me so loose!_ In repentance, she half-smiled gratefully and nodded at her. After a minute, Ruby's ire had died down into a mere trickle, and understanding was in her eyes.

_Thank God, 'cause when that she-wolf got upset, hell's unleashed._

Attempting to change the subject back to anything not related to her or her love life, Emma smoothly asked, "What about you, Victor? Will we be hearing wedding bells soon in the near future?"

He actually blushed. "Uh...that is to say...um..." Pulling at his necktie, he finally said, "Marriage is something my family ― and I ― take very seriously. When I do tie the knot...I want it to be with someone I'd like to spend forever with. Someone who'd like to be stuck with me for the rest of her life." When he squeezed Ruby's hand affectionately, she immediately leaned in for a kiss. A long one.

Emma just rested her face in her hands and grinned. She could definitely see these two raising bouncing babies in a Victorian-style mansion. After all, Ruby was one hell of an interior designer.

After Victor had pulled away from his girlfriend, he peered around and said, "Hey ― didn't you say Graham was coming over?"

Ruby hid her smile against his neck. "Yes, but you know Graham ― he's always at least five minutes late for everything."

Whale snorted. "That explains why law enforcement always comes an hour afterwards to every crime scene."

Rolling her eyes at the thought of meeting Ruby's tardy cousin, Emma glanced lengthily around the crowded room, the dark bar against the back wall fraught with lonely souls hoping to meet a perfect stranger ― all while downing their alcoholic beverage of choice. The dance floor was currently empty, but that was probably because the DJ on stage was busy inviting special requests and karaoke spotlights. God, she hadn't sung karaoke since―

The wine suddenly burned her throat, and her eyes stung. No, she wouldn't think of  _him_. Not tonight. Not again. It was already more than two weeks since his company's project had been submitted, so she would never have to hear from them...or Killian. It had been a done deal, a fixed job.  _I'm done with you_ , her memory charged.

"Ah, there you are ― it's so damn tight in here a bloke can't even breathe," an accented voice claimed. Then the owner of the voice was by Victor's side, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. Ruby squealed and stood up to hug him.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, nearly jumping up and down. "We've been waiting and waiting―"

Running a hand through curly, sand-colored hair, he bit his bottom lip. Emma had to admit...he was kind of adorable when he did that. "Ruby, work was hectic," he excused, "and then I barely made it back to my flat so I could―"

"Too much information," Victor interrupted with a smirk, waving over to the waiter. "Here, get yourself a drink, something to eat...relax. We don't need to hear your gory tales tonight, do we, sweetheart?"

Ruby gave Victor a mischievous smile before blowing him a kiss. "Of course not." Then she turned to Emma, who sighed. "Graham...I want you to meet my boss  _and_  my best friend, Emma Swan. Emma, this is Graham Humbert, first cousin and the sheriff department's most brilliant detective."

Instead of basking in Ruby's praise and pruning in front of them like a vain peacock, the man smiled sheepishly and looked down at his feet, hands deep in his pockets.  _Hmm_ , Emma thought to herself,  _he's a modest sort of guy._

Bravely, she offered him her hand. "Nice to meet you, Graham."

He shook his head as if coming out of a daze, but the heart-stopping smile on his face made up for the fact that he hadn't offered to handshake first. " _Emma_." He took the word between his teeth, humming it. "It's an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance."

His steady stare was unnerving her in all the right ways. Or maybe that was because this was her third glass of wine. "Wow, a deputy who likes to watch oldies ― what a catch."

Victor and Ruby laughed at that, while Graham managed to chuckle. Still, his answering smile reached his eyes, and the result was quite dazzling.  _Good Lord, she was not going to get infatuated with the first nice man that crossed her path...well, attractive man...with the same color of eyes like―_ Wishing she was stronger when it came to temptation, that she would stop comparing all men to  _him_  (especially when  _he_  didn't deserve that privilege  _at all_ ), Emma meditated on how many more minutes she was obligated to sit here out of politeness before she could just up and leave. She didn't want to date anyone. She didn't want to take a chance on anyone.

For her, romance was a thing of the past, and it was high time to move on to other things. Like going on a trip around the world, for example...a dream she had kept since―

Shoving her wine away, Emma slouched in her chair as Graham said something witty to Victor while tossing banter back and forth with Ruby. He probably was a nice person, and probably an even better friend, but she really didn't want to do this.

"Emma's a heck of a dancer." Ruby raised a brow in challenge. "She totally could leaving you panting out on the floor,  _cousin of mine_."

Her head snapped up at the mention of her name. "Uh, no." She chuckled dryly. "No, those were my college years, when I was hopeful and stupid. I'm over that phase now."

"Getting old?" Graham's smile was as devious as Ruby's.

Emma snorted, determined not to fall for his trick. "Oh yeah, I'm dead tired and as decrepit as the hills." Huffing, she moved to stand up, grabbing her purse. "Well, I'll be going now―"

"To the restroom," Ruby interrupted. When Emma gave her a questioning stare, the girl had put on her best pleading face.  _Oh boy._

"I kind of," she cleared her throat, looking down at the tablecloth in embarrassment, "would like to call it a night, actually." If she were wearing soft sneakers or her flats, she'd be toeing the floor with the tip of her right foot, like she always had when she'd get shy and soft-spoken.

Killian had always called that habit of hers adorable. In fact, he had found all of her habits adorable ― how rare was that?

_God, he was everywhere. Every region of her thoughts, every part of her best memories. She clung to them fiercely while pushing them away, and with each passing moment, her heart bled just a little bit more._

If only he hadn't bruised her so with his empty promises. If only he had been truly loyal and stayed with her. He would never know how much she had missed him ― crying for him during strange hours of the night, wanting him beside her and waking up to find him still gone, loving him despite how she wanted to hate him for what he had done.

They said that you never forgot your first love, that you would always remember your first time. He was both for her. That could never change.

Not even if she were fortunate enough to find love again.

"Hello! Earth to Emma?" Ruby was calling to her, her tone exasperated and a little bit sympathetic. Just a little bit.

Biting her bottom lip, she smiled. It hurt to do so. Putting on her best people voice, she said, "Ugh, I spaced out, didn't I? Sorry... I must be more overstressed than usual, work being so hectic―"

Graham was getting up from his seat as well. "I can understand that ― the chief's being giving me overtime all the time, trying to get even..."

Something in his tone registered. "Wait ― why is your boss giving you a hard time?"

A tiny smirk lifted one corner of his lips. "Ruby didn't tell you?"

Emma glared at Ruby. "You didn't tell me...?"

It seemed that the girl was barely holding back a huge grin. "The chief ― Regina Mills? ― she was...his girlfriend. Now, ex-girlfriend."

He shrugged. "She was getting too possessive, too demanding. We couldn't balance our personal relationship with our professional one, so...I had to make a choice. But I think she's happier without me... Rumors have been going around that she's seeing Robin―"

"No!" Ruby gasped. "You mean that daredevil of a hot shot that has gotten every promotion imaginable in the department?"

"Yup ― which means yours truly still has to take the night patrol in an obsolete car." Graham sighed dramatically. "The things I do for the safety of our citizens..."

Emma felt herself finally relax amid their camaraderie, and visions of Killian started to fade. She could be happy. By herself, with others, without him. She  _could_.

"So, Graham..." she trailed off. "I was just about...to go get myself a drink. Care to join me?" Her breath stilled while she waited, eagerly and nervously. Maybe she could take a chance on someone.  _Maybe. Maybe it was possible._

He cocked his head at her, curls dancing above his eyes. "You're sure?" He was trying to ease her discomfort when he smiled teasingly. "I'm a bad luck charm, Emma ― I never get far without breaking something or colliding into a wall. And when I talk, I stutter. Every single damn time."

It was rather charming that he didn't want to be overly eloquent with his words, that he kept everything solid and credible and awkward and relative. That made it all the better for her to get to know him as a person and not just as Ruby's dashing cousin.

"Well, I'm a regular klutz, so no need to worry about my good luck rubbing off on you. At the very least, you can catch me when I fall."

Ruby pumped her fists in the air, looking superlatively pleased. " _Yes_! You're both flirting with each other!" She turned toward Victor. "This is progress."

 _Yeah...there was no denying that._  Graham's cheeks flushed, but he still offered Emma his hand, his gaze twinkling with gentle chiding toward Ruby. And something else. There was a warmth there, one she wanted to explore. All these years had been so cold. Spring needed to come into her life ― there was such a desperate need for change, that she found herself very thirsty for it all of a sudden.

His other hand pushed through the bodies mingling on the dance floor, cutting a path to the bar. Though her red dress was pretty simple and she was wearing classic black heels, Emma didn't feel so ordinary anymore. Because the way Graham was guiding her to their destination, a soft smile on his face when he peeked at her, meant that tonight wouldn't be dull, with her hidden in the background.

Tonight, she would shine.

* * *

" _'Cause we're livin' in a world of fools, breaking us down, when they all should let us be, we belong to you and me,'" Killian sang into her ear as he slow danced with her about the room. The Bee Gees hummed along in the background, and Emma couldn't imagine anything more romantic than her boyfriend murmuring the lyrics of one of her favorite ballads as he rocked her in his arms on her birthday._

_How far she had come, from being loved by no one to being cherished by the most beautiful man in all the world. She didn't need any presents. She didn't need any wishes. And she certainly didn't need any cake._

_She only wanted Killian with her, forever._

_Then, as Celine Dion's "Seduces Me" came next, she fell harder, pressing her lips on his as everything she felt for him came to the surface, nearly overwhelming her. She could never imagine being without him, because he was such a part of her now._

_She loved him utterly and completely. She loved him in all the ways the experts said you shouldn't. She loved him because he helped her be a better person. She loved him when he was just there, by her side, no words spoken or actions taken. And she had a hunch she would still love him even if he didn't love her back._

" _So this is love," she said breathily against his skin, sighing when he gently kissed her temple and held her closer. She was no Cinderella, and there weren't any real princes in this world. But in her fairy tale, he would be hers. "I'll never regret the day I had the guts to go into Marco's shop."_

_He pulled back to smile at her. "And I'll never regret the day I met you, my Swan." The music stopped, and he slipped a hand into his pocket, removing something circular shaped. "Happy nineteenth birthday, lass."_

_The simple packaging meant the object inside was small. She carefully unwrapped it, trembling when a silver swan stared back at her, dangling from a silver chain._

" _Because you will fly so high someday, Emma, when you spread your wings. You deserve to find your piece of heaven, love."_

_She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You're heaven enough for me, Killian." Giggling when he trailed a finger down her cheek, she rubbed noses with him, tenderly capturing his lips again when he clasped the pendant beneath her hair. One hand was enmeshed in her golden locks, while the other cradled her head._

_Slowly, he guided her to their bedroom, where she could curl into him and never leave his side._

_Where there was no limit to their dreams._

* * *

"What questions should we ask each other?" Graham challenged, tossing back his whiskey shot.

Emma pushed her glass of rum away, not in the mood for more alcohol in her system. "Not the usual ones."

"Hmm..." Suddenly, he hiccupped loudly, and the way he jumped up in shock made Emma cover her amused grin with the back of her hand. "Well, how about an... _unusual_  question for a question?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. What's yours?"

Graham leaned forward, gazing at her intently. "Are you still in love with your ex?"

Ignoring how her entire body quivered from that thought, she scoffed, waving her hands about from exasperation. "Does everyone in the world know about me and Neal―"

"I'm not talking about Neal." He was still staring. "I'm talking about the man who really broke your heart. The one that you keep looking for, even in a beat-up place like this. The one that makes you stare at all the couples, wishing you were one of them. The one who taught you how to dance."

Emma masked her growing anxiety with a little suave smirk and tilt of her head. "Very perceptive, Detective. But how can you be sure it wasn't really Neal?"

He grunted, sounding frustrated. "I'm not. But let's put it this way: you remember Neal the way I remember Regina. A bit of sadness, a bit of anger, and a pinch of regret tossed in the mix. But he wasn't the love of your life, and she wasn't mine. Just..."

"Two ships passing in the night," she finished for him, her hands now resting on her lap.

"Yup." He placed enough money on the counter for their drinks, but his fingers continued to toy with a quarter, spinning it absently as he looked off into space. Somehow, Elvis had taken center stage and was crooning for the nightly slow dance, whispering how he "couldn't help fallin' in love...", and the image before them triggered another happy memory of her and Killian during their third anniversary, enamored with each other. It made her eyes water.

Swallowing hard, she tried to pick up the conversation. "So...my turn. The one thing in the world you want to do ― but can't do."

His gaze became clear again. "Ah, a simple question. Well, let's see..." He gave her a lazy smile. "Hunting. I'm a hell of a tracker ― I'm sure I'd be bloody good at it."

One of her brows lifted. "And you can't because..."

He gasped in mock shock. "Oh, for shame ― cruelty to animals, Swan!"

She tittered. She guffawed. And then she laughed, really hard and really long. The best she had done all night. Graham was chuckling along with her at the end. Then she noticed something in his eyes had changed. Now there was a light in his face, calmness akin to serenity. He had relaxed. And so had she. Laughter truly was the best ice-breaker.

* * *

The night dragged on, but what was in reality hours of talking seemed like minutes. But of course the most memorable event of the evening would be the host of the club giving a shout-out to one of its VIP guests.

She nearly spit out the water she had taken a sip of, her date still relating one of his humorous work incidents. "Hide me," she whimpered, quickly getting down from her stool and sneaking behind him so she was obscured from sight. "No, don't turn around! He'll see me!"

Graham angled his head so that through his peripheral vision, he could glance at her. "Who's he?"

Emma sighed, rubbing at her eyes with her hands. "Killian Jones," she finally grumbled.  _Goddamn it._

There he was, parading through the crowd, dressed for success and glamor, a blonde woman on his arm.  _Whoa, that was fast..._ Just as soon as the moment came, it was over, and he was mingling with the masses, his figure barely visible in the throng. She peeked over at Ruby and Victor's table, but they weren't there. Probably out dancing or they just plain left.  _Traitors._

"Um...can we leave?" She snatched at her purse and tugged on Graham's arm. "Like, right now?"

He bit his lip. "Worried about something?" He scanned the room, noticing Killian's reception. "Or someone?" Huffing, she yanked him down to the floor. He yelped. "Alright, alright ― I'm coming!" Then he stopped short. "Wait...it's him, isn't it?"  _Oh no, he was putting two and two together, and it was going to be so fricking bad―_  "The love of your life?"

She gritted her teeth together, nearly stomping her foot angrily. "I already told you some of the story ― now is  _not_  the time to want details!"

The DJ's announcement drowned out Graham's protests. "Hey everyone ― you know what time of night it is! Let's karaoke!"

Too much adrenaline was coursing through her veins, making her senseless and foolish and daring. Well, that's what she told herself when she bolted toward the backstage, dragging Graham with her. She could still see Killian's new girl whispering in his ear, dragging her fingernails down his arm, his hand possessively on her waist, and...

Rage. That's what this was. Pure rage. And maybe a tiny spark of jealousy.

He just couldn't stay out of her damn life, could he?

"Emma, what are you doing?" Graham yelled over the loud speakers, his jaw dropping on seeing the microphone in her hand.

"Having a little fun," she purred, running her fingers through her hair. When he still looked at her disbelievingly, she went up to him until they were only inches apart. "Help me," she pleaded desperately, her voice cracking. "Let's get off the rebound. I...I need to put my past behind me."

"By embarrassing yourself?" he countered, arms crossed over his chest.

"By freeing myself. Please, I need this. You...you can sing, right?"

He cocked his head at her, and after a minute of mutual stare-down, he seemed to relent, harrumphing as he took the other mic she offered. Eyeing the curtain, he murmured, "This is crazy. But okay. I'll do it. For you."

In the spur of the moment, she kissed his cheek. He blushed. "Thank you, Graham." Smiling, she cleared her throat as the DJ started to interrupt the fast-paced music currently playing. "I hope you like Bon Jovi."


	3. Part III

 

_Going to college with Killian was what Emma liked to dub "merciless, masochistic torture." In the classes they didn't share, it was different. She actually focused on the teacher's lectures, outlined her assignments, and got some work done in class. In the ones they did share, like calculus (hey, she'd always loved math) and advanced lit., she loved having him around, but...he really made paying attention to the professor an impossibility._

_Like right now._

_Luckily for Killian, the teacher was the wife of a guy he knew pretty well ― David Nolan, whom he had met at the gym ― and she cut them some slack for their distractions, mostly due to physical contact, more often than not. Depending on the circumstances._

_Emma didn't consider herself a naughty girl. Not at all. But Killian was being a very naughty boy―_

" _Seriously?!" she hissed at him, swatting his hand away from her. "Trying to feel me up in the middle of her lecture about anti-feminism in classic fairy tale romance?!"_

_Once her hand had returned to grasping her pen, his hand again slipped under the table and slid under her skirt, gently caressing between her thighs. When his fingers sneaked underneath the waistband of her underwear, Emma bit back a moan and then glared at him._

_The jerk just continued to grin mischievously at her, teeth flashing as his tongue licked his lips slowly, his forefinger entering very dangerous territory while he palmed her. "Don't tell me you want to listen to this?" he trilled in her ear, his scruff scratching at her cheek. "Wouldn't you rather have me show you how giving a man can be to the woman he loves...?" His teeth lightly bit down on her earlobe. "I can always teach you something new."_

_Holy hell. This was like being in high school all over again. Except that whenever any guys made any lewd advances toward her, she'd tell them to back off or she'd sock their jaws._

_She did break a lot of jaws during senior year._

_Oh, thank God they were sitting in very back of class, a herd of chattering people between them and the whiteboard, or things would get very embarrassing―_

_Killian was pretty determined to prove his point, because in a matter of minutes, he got her off, sweaty and moaning into the crook of his neck, his mouth begging for a kiss and then attempting to devour her tongue. It didn't matter how many times they slept together: he was always wanting more of her, like she wanted him. Heck, they were acting like two very horny teenagers that had just graduated, instead of mature adults._

_Now he was kissing down her neck. "Killian," she whined softly, "we just did it this morning, before school―"_

" _Emma, you know I always want more of you." His voice was husky ― the way it always was when he was aroused ― and he groaned from need. "The things you do to me, lass..."_

_That's it. Her very sexy boyfriend was officially driving her crazy. Pulling away abruptly and sitting up straight, Emma put a big smile on her face before reaching over and squeezing his now bulging crotch. Hard._

_Killian yelped loudly, nearly jumping in his seat. When the rest of the class turned to look at them, his hand was high in the air, waving madly._

" _Yes, Killian?" Mary Margaret asked, peering at him above her thin-rimmed reading glasses. "Would you care to list the ways that fairy tales reflected the sexist views of their authors?"_

_He was gaping like a fish, speechless and stammering wildly, his cheeks flushed red. Emma hid her chuckles behind her hand, coughing to mask them. Ah, the sweet taste of revenge._

_Eventually, he admitted he didn't know the answer. Professor Nolan only smiled knowingly before assigning the class a ten-page long research paper on that topic, recommending a stack of literature to help._

_And as for Emma...well, she was one of the first to escape the classroom. But Killian wasn't far behind, hauling her into the nearest empty study room and locking the door._

_When he made sure the blinds were down, his gaze predatory and heated, she tossed her messenger bag on the floor and hopped up on the desk. She let him be the one to do the stripping this time ― after all, he always prided himself on being quite the lover._

_The look of his face when he saw her matching set of lacy lingerie, revealing and sensual, was absolutely priceless. Setting his phone on a chair, he made sure it would repeatedly play "Bad Romance," so that the innocent passerby or student next door would hear only Lady Gaga's throaty voice sing the raunchy pop ballad. Not them, or their very vigorous activities._

_Half an hour later, their clothes were strewn across the floor, and the only thing between her bare back and the wooden tabletop was Killian's soft leather jacket. Honestly, were these walls soundproof? Because the way he was pounding into her, the table's legs were rattling as if a strong earthquake had struck._

_She was still under the influence of mind-numbing pleasure when he found his own release, professing his love for her ― very loudly ― while he came with a moan._

_Staring at the cheaply constructed ceiling, Emma sighed. If they were ever caught doing this, they'd be expelled for sure... "Couldn't you just have waited until we got home?" she reprimanded, running a hand through her rumpled hair._

_He was grinning widely as he leaned over to kiss her, his own hair left wildly tousled by her fingers. "My lovely Emma," he enunciated, nipping at her jaw, "I have to go to Marco's today and help him balance the last of his finances, check the stockroom, and analyze the list of products. I'll be at the shop for hours after my last class, while you'll be in our flat by three o'clock, all alone in our king-sized bed." Gazing down at her, he gently cupped her cheek. "Besides...have I truly given you cause for complaint?"_

_When he smirked and raised an eyebrow, she giggled. "Of course not," she whispered, giving him a sultry smile of her own. Her hands started to caress the muscles of his chest, slowly descending. Once her fingertips had passed his hips, he repositioned himself so that he was hovering over her. "But just in case..." She adeptly rolled them over so that she was kneeling on the desk while he lay between her legs. "Maybe we should make doubly sure there's..." she squatted down and rubbed against him, "...no remaining tension left."_

_His hands rose from her hips to her shoulders. "As milady wishes," he agreed, promising more undeniable seduction as his lips and fingers began to explore her again._

_And in the haze that comes with such mounting desire, Emma thought of two more items that she could add to the very secret list hidden in her sock drawer._

* * *

Emma never felt so empowered in her entire life. Or so foolish. And breathless. And, well...starstruck.

The moment the chorus of "You Give Love a Bad Name" came through the sound system, she had wanted to jump offstage, scared out of her wits. But Graham had anchored her to the center spotlight, crooning the title line before the introductory riff played. He was brave ― she'd give him that.

"You don't have to do this, Emma," he whispered, spinning her around while they swayed to the instrumental music. "But I thought that you wanted to." Then he gave her a "Dirty Dancing" moment when he drew her into a classic dance position from said movie and rolled their hips, which earned them some catcalls and whoops.  _What the heck?_  Staring into her eyes, he firmly instructed, "This is  _your_  moment.  _Take it_."

Suddenly, the stage fright that was pinning her legs to the ground and locking her voice in her throat vanished. Adrenaline, the symptom of quick courage, launched her senses in a heightened drive of determination, and she started to follow Graham's lead, listening hard to the rhythm of the song and trying to keep in sync with it. Through it all, their eyes were locked on each other's every move, and it gave Emma the confidence to continue, knowing that she wasn't alone in this.

When she took full control of the microphone, belting out the lyrics passionately, people in the crowd started cheering.  _Inside, her heart soared._  She and Graham interchanged lines, making the song a duet, and when the charming deputy started to credibly flirt with her meanwhile, the club went wild. Her partner in crime was the very image of charisma, singing like a pro as they swung and glided across the sleek floor, dancing all the way while they collaborated. The moment he moaned the guy-oriented stanza, making a show of taking her hand and running her fingernails down his chest, a damn sexy smile on his lips as he taunted her from under his eyelashes, she nearly screamed along with every other woman present. Everything about him was impeccable.

Together, they made a good team, interacting as if they'd known each other for years. At the very end of their joint performance, Graham encouraged their audience to join in, clapping their hands to the beat while the chorus reigned supreme in the finale. The massive round of applause they received afterwards nearly made her deaf.

Despite her misgivings, her new friend had made good on his promise. The resulting feeling, this sense of power and control and self-worth, was brilliant and spectacular. So it was without fear of judgment that she smiled widely, bowing before the crowd.

Almost everyone was giving them a standing ovation, women jumping and waving madly at Graham while some men winked at Emma and yelled out wishful obscenities.

But it was his warm hand clasping hers that brought her back down to earth, reeling her in. "You were absolutely splendid, Emma ― thank you," he whispered in her ear, his brogue rougher and thicker. It was a wonder she was able to hear him over all the noise.

Looking at him, she saw a kind man who had made mistakes. Like she had. A man who was the  _unknown_ , when he could be the  _known_. He had done her a favor, and she would never forget it. "It's I who should be doing the thanking," she corrected, loving the shy grin that crossed his lips. "I don't know how to repay you for―"

One eyebrow raised, he shook his head. "I had a good time, and that song is pretty great." When his lips brushed her cheek, she shivered, wondering what he was up to. "But there is..." One hand cupped that very same cheek. "...one thing I'd like. As a token of appreciation."

"Name it."

Her eyes slowly opened after she heard no reply. Graham was gazing at her strangely―  _No_. That wasn't it. He was―

At first she was taken by surprise when he kissed her, steadily and sweetly and  _God, so gently_. The way he stroked her skin with his fingertips, as if reading it through touch alone, made her breathless. Tentatively, she tasted his lips in return, a small moan slipping out of her mouth when he acted on her response and deepened the kiss.

It was all she ever wanted.

_A second chance._

In accordance, the world around them melted away. Emma could feel his heartbeat, just as he was no doubt feeling hers. Both were trembling in unspoken agreement, and her fingers curled into his soft hair as he lengthened their connection, tenderly holding her face in the palm of his hands. There was no else there but him and her.

She didn't remember how the kiss had ended, or how the crowd had reacted, or how Graham had guided her down the steps leading to the main floor. All she knew was how he was preceding her now so she could pass through, parting the multitude of bodies shaking in time to the beat of Michael Jackson, glancing back at her every once in a while with a hopeful smile. She saw only him, not them.

Meanwhile, her mind was lauding her, saying,  _He's handsome, understanding, romantic, and ready to take chances. Don't let this man get away that easily. He's not Neal ― and he's not Killian..._

"Are you ready to go, Emma?"

Her thoughts snapped back to the present time and place. "Yeah." Blinking, she shook herself out of the daze she'd fallen into. On observing his concern at her silence, she tried to grin.  _Get over yourself, Emma._  "Yes, I'm ready ― let's leave this place."

Before they could make their way to the exit, the outlines of two persons walking toward them caught the corner of her eye. And before she could outrun both, the first had stepped right in front of her and Graham.

Blonde companion still on his arm, Killian Jones smirked dangerously at them, his debonair suit and aura charged high enough to strike like lightning. But Emma recognized his clenched jaw and tight smile, how he was glaring at Graham with such badly concealed loathing. If he was going to make a scene...

"Why, Emma Swan..." he began, ignoring the frantic looks his date gave him, his tone already smooth and dark and compelling, "fancy meeting you here." His blue gaze simmered. "Did you miss me?"

* * *

_It amazed her that with time, their love only grew stronger, not weaker. That their appreciation for each other only became deeper, not shallow. That the more they learned about each other, the more they wanted to be with each other._

_Sighing wistfully, Emma double-checked everything for the umpteenth time._ _This had to be perfect. Because he was perfect for her. When she heard the lock turn in the door, she squealed and ran to her hiding place, careful not to trip over the loose ties of her robe. Then she pressed "play" on the CD player, savoring the deep, mellow tones of Barry White as he praised his "pretty sexy lady" and asked her to dance the night away._

_To all appearances, the apartment was empty. Looking weary and sad, Killian called out her name, but on hearing no answer, she saw his shoulders drop and immediately felt very guilty for not rushing out to comfort him. He couldn't possible think she would leave on this special day, did he?_

_Then...his face literally brightened when he saw the small sailboat on the counter, in whose rigging was ensnared a short scroll. She had to forcibly contain her excitement when he opened the seal quickly and read through the contents, his growing smile making her blush._

_Rose petals were kind of cliché, but she knew that at worst, he'd just laugh and enjoy the gesture anyway. As he stepped along the path she had strewn along the carpet, Emma readied herself for him, tiptoeing slowly until she was within the confines of their bedroom._

_When Killian saw her, back pressed against the base of their bed, he was smiling the way he only did around her. As if she were the only thing he saw. As if she were the only thing he wanted to see._

" _Well, what have we here?" The soft gray sweater he wore creased when he crossed his arms over his chest, a devilish smirk now on his lips. Her eyes traveled over his trim form, from fitting jeans and heavy brown work boots up to the collar of a light blue shirt._

_Suddenly, Emma worried that she had messed everything up, that he was expecting more when she had given less. After all, what could she offer a man like him? With his looks, his wit, his charm, and his intelligence, he could have anything he wanted._

_Chewing her bottom lip nervously, she stared at the creamy-colored carpet beneath her bare feet, outlining her toes. "I ― I wanted to wish you ― I wanted to give you ― but I'm not good at ― at these kinds of things." Her words came out as rasps. "I'm no good at being romantic ― I always ruin―"_

" _Nonsense." In less than a second, he had pulled her into his arms, his fingers digging into the soft lining of her robe. "You know I have no need for gifts like that, Emma. I don't want them." His lips trailed down the side of her face, pausing before her mouth. "I want you...my perfect woman."_

_Before she could apologize for even dreaming of coming up with such a stupid idea in the first place, his kiss wiped away all those thoughts. In her mind, there was just him. Him and her. Them._

_When she finally could breathe again, his smile was gentle and understanding, fingertips brushing her tears. "But I'm not perfect, Killian," she said brokenly, sniffling. "I don't deserve―"_

" _No, you deserve it all," he firmly insisted, wrapping his arms around her. "I may not have a list for perfection, my darling, but if anyone were to be my ideal, it would be you. It will always be you." Slowly, his hands fumbled with the sides of her robe, pushing it aside until it fell off her shoulders and collapsed in a heap on the floor, exposing her bare skin to air. "Look at you...my very own goddess," he whispered, fingers tracing her curves._

_She turned her face away. "I'm sorry my gift was so dumb."_

_He tsked. "It wasn't." His lips met her forehead. "It's wonderful...and bloody incredible."_

" _What is?"_

_Killian grinned down at her, practically exuding happiness. When she tugged at his sweater, pouting, his smile widened, and he began to help her undress him. "That you love me...that you love all the things about me ― even the smallest things." His eyes, so bright, dimmed. "Only my brother's ever loved me like that."_

_Her limbs immediately stilled, her fingertips pausing to unbutton his shirt. "Liam's alive." She cupped his cheek with one hand. "Don't listen to what they told you ― listen to yourself. If you feel like you haven't lost him yet, he's out there, somewhere...fighting his way back to you."_

" _I wish he could have seen this," he murmured, kicking off his shoes. "Our life here...you...how fulfilled you've helped me to become..." Softly, he rubbed noses with her. "My brother is a stubborn arse, but I know he would love you the moment he meets you."_

_When his chest was finally exposed to her, Emma kissed down every part of the impressive expanse, sure to make every mouthful thoroughly wet and marked with her desire for him. "More than...you love me?" she purred, undoing the buckle of his belt and flinging the item to the floor. He then kicked off his pants, left clad in rather revealing white boxers. "Maybe I've fallen for the wrong Jones brother, hmm?"_

_Squeezing her behind possessively, he growled at her, "And here I thought the list was about me?"_

" _It is." One hand snaked downward. "But certain items need to be demonstrated...proven..."_

_He nearly tossed her onto the bed, towering above her, his stare roving over her face first and her body last, the pendants she had gotten him for their last anniversary swinging back and forth from his neck and trailing between her breasts. "Proven?" he emphasized, an unspoken challenge in his voice._

" _Aye," Emma smirked, pulling him closer to her while running her hands down his back appreciatively. "Like number seventy-four, for example."_

_Groaning, he held on tighter to her hips. "Remind me to frame that list of yours later, princess."_

_In response, she slid one leg along his right side, curling it around his waist. "Happy third anniversary, Killian." Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear, "By the way...I still expect to receive my present later."_

" _Indeed." He chuckled. "Oh, you won't believe what surprises I have in store for you, my lovely Swan...just you wait and see..."_

* * *

Killian hadn't felt this angry in years. True, for a long time, he had been bloody furious with himself, with the world, with every set of fucking circumstances that had torn him away from his love ― but now...

Now, this bloody git in front of him was the final straw.

Graham ― or whatever the hell his name was ― was standing so close to Emma that he was nearly draped around her like some curtain. And as for... _her_... Her face was impassive, cleared of emotion, and stiff as stone as she stared back at him, no doubt scrutinizing Tink out of the corner of her eye. When she fidgeted slightly, he couldn't help but smile a little in triumph. Obviously, his ex-girlfriend was more affected by him than she cared to show.

Seeing her performance on stage... How she had danced and sung, a breath of fresh air among all this mundane insanity... It had brought back so many memories, so many feelings. In a way, it was worse than when he had barged into her office, on a mission for business but also hoping to somehow make amends and reconcile with her, to regain her trust. Worse than recognizing her in the crowd of Neal's guests, realizing that what he had been looking for had been right within his reach all along.

_Hoping, against all common sense, that she still loved him more than she despised him._

Therefore, the instant she had descended from the spotlight, gorgeous and triumphant, it had been imperative that he catch her before she took off and left him aching for her all over again.

Rolling back his shoulders, Killian prepared to charm his lady out of the arms of that  _buffoon_  she had just bleeding  _kissed_  in front of the entire room. What could only be jealousy pumped through his veins as he continued, "How remiss of me ― this is Miss Bell Green. She is a bloody marvelous artist by trade, and she just recently became the first female curator of one of the leading museums in Europe. Bell, love, this is Emma Swan and her... _friend_." Wanting to add insult to injury, desperate to coax a real reaction out of Emma, he stooped low and kissed Tink's hands with mock reverence, stoking the flames by brushing his lips over her fingers more than once.

Blonde curls tossing back and forth, the girl blushed at his compliments and waved him off.  _Pretty she was, but Emma she was not._ "Killian, stop it." She grinned at Emma, oblivious to the way the latter was watching the whole ordeal with disinterest. He waited for Emma's green gaze to brighten, to glower, to burn him, but it didn't. It was instead a blank look, of one who was merely tolerating someone. She simply didn't care. "I started out with ceramics in grad school, then transitioned into sculpture, then got signed up for a metal-making workshop by accident. It's how I got my nickname ― Tinker ― when I started selling my works on a professional basis." She shrugged at the recollection. "However, even after all these years, people still call me Tink ― the name has just damn stuck."

Emma nudged Graham with her elbow. The man outstretched his hand, looking more than a little uncomfortable. As for Emma...Killian's attempt to get under her skin seemed to be working  _very_  well. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Bell ― and you as well, Jones. I've heard...much about you." He swallowed hard, eyes flickering between Killian and the exit, just out of reach to the left of him. "But if you'll excuse us, we do need to be going. I made a life-or-death promise to get her home safely."

What he did next made Killian blanch, and he had to grit his teeth together to stop himself from saying something foul or punching the arse. Taking Emma's hand in his, Graham slid it into the crook of his arm, cradling it, before pressing his lips to her cheek.  _She's not your lass to protect, you bloody fool. She was always meant to be mine...to be with me..._

But, Killian reminded himself, he  _had_  left her. He had abandoned her like a bloody traitor would, sneaking away without a word.  _Not because he wanted to, though_   _― she couldn't honestly think that he did all that because he hadn't wanted to marry her? Damn it, Liam. Why the hell did you have to be so goddamned trusting?_

Well, a gentleman couldn't go around hitting people because he didn't get his way.  _What bad form_ , his younger self would say. He scoffed at himself, at his idiocy, at all his mistakes and how the bloody planet had stabbed him in the back and gave him gaping holes of misery in place of happiness... No, this situation required delicacy...required―

_No, please don't leave, darling_ , his heart begged as he saw Emma propel that Graham bloke forward, tugging at his sleeve, clearly wanting to be gone as soon as possible, away from this awkward encounter. Away from him.  _No, he just needs to speak with her ― explain to her ― love her ― God, Emma―_

"Wait..." He fumbled through the back pocket of his pants for his wallet, flipping it open and pulling out one of his business cards, which also listed his private line. If she shredded it into pieces when he was out of sight, that would be... Well, it wouldn't be okay, but as long as he knew he had tried something ―  _anything_.

He wanted to drag that moon down from the sky and write out his soul on it and give it to her. He wanted to be her prince, be her savior, be her fairy tale ending ― to erase the past and go back in time to the day their future as a family would have started. He wanted to embrace her right now and tell her how much he bloody  _loved_  her, how much more he had bloody  _missed_  her, his best friend and lover and almost- _wife_. They were supposed to spend their lives together, to share it all ― the breakage, the bondage, the joys, the sorrows, the stories. She wasn't supposed to be alone for all these years without him. And he wasn't supposed to be without her, badly wanting her every day in his bed and his home and by his heart, even though he couldn't have her.

If only she would give him one more chance to tell her why...how... To tell her his regrets and his reasons.

To pour it all out on the floor, though he certainly couldn't mop up the mess he had already made by just saying he was sorry. He would slay dragons and fight villains and do whatever she asked to prove himself to her. To win her heart again, not by any trickery, but because she wanted him back.

He could be the worst sinner on earth, but bloody hell, he had never lied to her.

Finding her meant not losing her a second time.

When he felt her skin brush his fingertips, he nearly gaped in amazement when she actually took the card from him, sighing when he tried to hold onto her hand and missed. He didn't hear the couple mumble more excuses before saying good-bye, didn't hear Tink tell them both that it was lovely to make their acquaintance ― and he didn't hear how his colleague protested when he ignored her and followed them out as rapidly as his legs would carry him, needing to keep Emma in his vision for a moment more.

Forcefully shoving his hands into his pockets, Killian locked his knees and leaned back against the metal door, never letting go of the image in front of him.

His Emma, walking away from him, the street lights illuminating her like a fading candle amid the dark night. With another man. Not with him.

This time, it was  _she_  who was leaving  _him_  behind.

And what hurt the fucking most was...that he bloody deserved  _all_  of it. He had earned her hate, her rebuke, and her unwillingness to even listen to his apologies.

He had made her suffer, when he had only wanted to save her further pain.

But in spite of his personal guilt, reckoning, and remorse...

None of that had stopped him from still praying and asking and pleading for her forgiveness since he'd abandoned her.

Because when you wanted something, you had to  _fight_  for it. Otherwise, you would get what you deserved.

_Nothing._

_Nothing but shadows._

* * *


	4. Part IV

 

* * *

_The last thing Emma expected at six o'clock in the morning was Killian swaggering toward her, dressed in only his pajama bottoms, holding a breakfast tray laden with treats and flowers and steaming drinks._

_And he was crooning "Never Gonna Leave This Bed."_

_Her eyes popped open, the effect making her yawn immediately. "You can't be serious."_

_His smile widened as he continued to sing, swaying somewhat to the rhythm of the love song. Initially, it was the wafting smell of her morning meal that had captured her attention, but now... As evidenced by the growing heat trickling down her neck and deep into her very bones, her body was desiring something much different from food._

_Then, when he slid the tray onto the bedside table, kneeling down on the mattress, crouching over her with such adoration in his gaze, the slight trembling in his voice when he repeated the seductive chorus, reaching the conclusion..._

_This was the boy she had been infatuated with as a teen. And he was the man she had fallen for as an adult. He had changed her life, and she hoped that she was a positive addition to his. Their compatibility wasn't outlined in their dislikes or likes, or how well they got along or how often they argued. With Killian, it had always been simple._

_Unlike in the romantic comedies where the main characters got laid and then figured out their feelings afterwards ― an order of events Emma had never quite understood ― they had started out the rough-and-tumble way. Their story wasn't really a comedy, and the romance was in bits and pieces._

_But that was absolutely fine with her, because she wouldn't have had it any other way._

" _What's all this for?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her tone while he slowly kissed her knuckles. "Let me guess: you have bad news and you're trying to break it to me gently."_

_His laughter filled the room, raucous and loud. "Can't a man treat his sweetheart without being suspected of secrets?"_

_When she crossed her arms over her chest ― which didn't cover much anyway, as she was only in her sleeping underwear ― and arched her eyebrows at him expectantly, he covered his remaining chuckles with the back of his hand. "I'm not trying to bribe you into compliance, my love." He licked at his lips, eyes alight. "Nor would I ever dare to provoke your ire and then trick you into forgiving me with make-up food."_

_She half-smiled. "You mean make-up sex?"_

_In an instant, she was pressed up against the headboard, his chest colliding with her already tender nipples in a dangerous manner. "We seem to explore this particular subject a lot," he remarked, husky lilt growling out his approval._

_Trying to be nonchalant, she shrugged ― a gesture which only succeeded in rubbing her breasts against his skin. Killian bit down on his lower lip, obviously hiding a groan, while her mind grew preoccupied with the question of why she was still wearing anything at all. Her hands must have agreed, because her arms were free and going upward to slide the straps of her bra off her shoulders, finally combing through her hair with her fingers in what she hoped was a sexy, enticing ending._

" _Swan." His voice was breathless and strained, and the effort of him pulling her straps back into place at an attempt at modesty was very cute, in her opinion. As if he had ever cared before._

_She leaned forward, bumping noses with him. "Something wrong, Captain?"_

_He swallowed hard, throat bobbing as he took in the sight of her, aroused and itching to touch him. "Emma, I was...I was..." Another gulp. "I came...to ask you something..."_

" _Something good, I hope," she purred, her hand tracing the ridges of his abdomen until she reached the drawstring of his pants._

" _Very good," he rasped, eyelids closing. He moaned when she kissed along his neck, deftly extricating herself from the bedsheets until she was on her knees as well, urging him to remove her sleepwear. "Well, I could ask you that something when you're like this..."_

_In two seconds, she had finally unclasped her bra and slid off her underpants, relishing the whoosh of air that flew over her damp skin. God, Killian made it feel so great to be naked._

_His chest heaved. "Or like this," he choked out, clearly affected by her sudden lack of clothing._

_She started to grind her hips against his. "It's nothing you haven't seen before, Killian," she whispered in his ear before leading his hands to her breasts. For moment he succumbed, thumbing at her nipples, mouth soon following until she was crying out, praising how his tongue was practically eating her alive._

_When she started to drag down his boxers, one hand going behind to fondle his butt, his jaw clenched. He grabbed her by the wrists, ceasing her movements. "Emma, really..." He brushed his lips over hers. "As much as I'd love to continue this course of action, I must speak with you. Unclothed or not."_

_Her lust dissipating on seeing his serious stance, she cocked her head at him, careful not to catch an eyeful of what he was displaying in his nether regions. "What is it?" She cupped his face in her hands when he looked down at the bed. His soft scruff of a beard tickled her palms as she stroked his cheeks, trying to comfort him and ward his troubles away._

_Then a warm smile stretched his lips, and her heart pounded. "I got the job."_

" _Really?" She wanted to jump up and down, but that wouldn't be easy when her assets would be literally bouncing right in front of him. Not that he would really mind, of course, but he seemed distracted enough already. "But what about Marco's?"_

" _Marco..." He scratched the back of his ear. "He wants...Marco wants to retire, Emma. Seems his son came back from his extended backpacking trip across the world, and the old man wants nothing more than to spend the rest of the days in his company. He's...he's selling the shop."_

_Her jaw dropped open. Speechlessness appeared to be her behavior of the day. "What?" She shook her head, unable to believe it. "He told us he'd never sell, not for any reason."_

_Rarely did Killian's expression expose inner conflict, as he was an expert at masking his emotions and putting on a damn masterful poker face. But today, he looked nervous and excited, mournful and happy, wary and eager. Emma couldn't make heads or tails of all this confusion._

" _Well..." he murmured, "he actually has a buyer already ― but anyhow, I discussed with him just yesterday night our ideas about hiring on new people to run the shop, expanding the inventory even more than we've already done, maybe even renovating the store itself so that it's smaller, more efficient..."_

" _And?" She barely realized she was still not wearing anything until she was shivering. Smoothly, Killian wrapped the dormant sheet around her, nestling her in its folds with care. It felt almost like he was embracing her, how his fingers tugged at the crevices of the faux-satin fabric and pulled her closer to him._

" _He agreed."_

_Her mouth went completely dry. "But why are you telling me all this? Um...it's obvious you...won't be working for him ― obviously―" A chuckle escaped, but she knew better. It was an anxious response to the fact that she was more or less losing her only job. "―and as for me...well, I do still have school, and―"_

" _Emma." The renewal of his grin silenced her stutters. "Stop."_

_Hurt bloomed in her ribcage, streaming outward. "But―"_

" _No, I meant―" He ran a hand through his hair. "Wait a moment? Let me gather my words?"_

" _Okay." Chewing on her lip, shifting from thigh to thigh, she listened. Her calves were burning now, getting numb..._

" _I have...three things on my mind. The first is my new job...it's only being a paid intern at a designer firm, but it's a small start. Then...the second was the shop." He searched her eyes. "I don't want you to feel that you're losing something, darling ― I know how much the store means to you, and I know your dreams for it...and for yourself. And by God, I want you to keep them ― to keep it all..."_

_She couldn't help her ensuing pout. "I don't want to work there when Marco's gone ― or when you're gone..."_

_His laughter interrupted. "No, no, no ― that's not how it's going to be at all." The greatest smirk was tugging at both corners of his mouth, and his eyes were sparkling with fondness, mirth...and a touch of excitement. One hand sneaked over to the tray, lifted the plate topped with goodies she couldn't wait to consume, and retrieved, from underneath, a..._

_An envelope?_

" _This is for you," Killian offered. Uh-oh... Now he looked incredibly nervous. What was all of this about?_

_Slowly, she took the letter from him ― for what else could it be? ― and carefully began to tear open the sealed flap. On reading the contents, her throat was parched, and she almost started wheezing. The deed. To the whole fricking store. What on earth...? "You―"_

" _Not me ― we. I...I'm the interested party, Emma." His eyelashes swept over the circles under his eyes, evidence of his late nights up and the small amount of sleep he had been getting recently. "I told Marco I'm his man, if you agree to the purchase of the shop. You and I ― we'd be co-owners."_

_It had to be elation channeling through her veins when she squealed, discarded the sheet, and wrapped her boyfriend in a fierce embrace, the sheet around her falling off instantly. His chuckles vibrated through her as she kissed all over his face, making sure not to miss his lips. Oh, she gave special attention to that part of him...and others..._

_She was straddling him when he tried, in vain, to disentangle himself from her once again, bare chests pressed together. "What is it now?" Her voice, a low, frustrated whine, was eliciting the most amused expression on his face._

" _Well, love..." He licked his teeth. "I did say I have one more thing on my mind..."_

_Absolutely refusing to budge when he pushed forward with his hips, she just gave him her best questioning, side-long stare. All while very slowly slipping her hand a second time inside his pants._

_He reacted by putting his other hand down his pajama pocket. "Bloody hell, it's got to be here somewhere..." he muttered under his breath._

_Emma giggled. "What are you looking for now, silly?" she teased._

" _Oh, nothing, really..." Then his fists were in front of her, outstretched and beckoning. "Go on. Pick one."_

_Squinting, she pursed her lips, hesitating before she took the bait. Killian and his childish tricks... "That one," she nodded, reluctantly, at his left hand._

_It was empty when he opened it, bare palm revealed._

" _Killian..." she huffed, "is this some kind of j―"_

" _Open the other one," he commanded quietly, the blue of his irises seeming to swirl with emboldened color._

_Her hands shook as she pried apart his fingers ― which were trembling and God, she didn't understand why ― to view the secret within._

_Her heart stopped. No, the world stopped. For one blinding, terrifying, amazing second, the earth really was completely still. Because there, resting on his right hand, was a box. A velvet box._

_A box that contained a beautiful golden band, etched with flowers and...and...her name._

_With a gasp, she peered up at him, unable to speak._

_So instead, he did. "Emma," Killian whispered, his gaze so earnest and loving, transfixing her in one place, "I've loved you for years ― for all the years we've been together. From the moment I met you, I knew ― and I know...I know I'll love you till the end of time. But I don't just want to be_ with _you."_

_After he swallowed hard, no doubt gathering his resolve to continue, his next words stole the last bit of her breath. "Emma Swan, I want you for my wife. Will you marry me, my darling?"_

* * *

"Well," Graham said hesitantly, releasing her hand from his hold, "that wasn't...too bad."

Emma glanced at him, offering him a teasing grin. "It wasn't?"

"No...not as bad as I'd thought it would be. He was actually... _polite_."

Of course he was ― Killian Jones and manners were interchangeable words. He had considered himself to be a gentleman and act the gentleman's part since the first day she'd met him. Sighing, she nearly strangled her hand purse as she mulled over Killian's behavior of the evening. "Tinker" Bell was very enthusiastic, very eager, and very pretty. She was young, an associate, and all in all, perfect material for the man to base his next relationship on.

Being with someone as attractive as Killian had consequences. For one, women flocked to him like bees to a hive, restlessly buzzing about and trying to get his attention, clearly lusting after him and scheming how to get him into their beds. But she hadn't worried about that then, because she had trusted him completely and believed him to be loyal to a fault.

 _He was._  No matter how they had parted, she knew he always was faithful to her. Somehow, seeing him tonight in a non-antagonistic light by getting over her hurt in such a spontaneous way had softened her opinion of him.

Or maybe she was yielding to his charm a second time because she couldn't help herself?

"Thinking of him?" Graham's wistful tone awoke her, and her focus shifted.

She smiled apologetically. "How did you guess?"

He slipped his hands into his pant pockets, fixedly staring at the ground. "Ever heard that Katy Perry song? The one about lost love?"

It took a mere ten seconds for her mind to run over the lyrics while her face flushed. "You're not his replacement, Graham," she argued, her skin growing cold from the nighttime wind's touch. "What Killian and I had...it's been buried for  _years_." In order to lighten the mood, she taunted, "And besides, since when does a guy like you listen to female pop singers?"

He smirked. "Maybe I just like her looks." This marked attempt to repel the seriousness of their current topic didn't work, unfortunately, because the feeling was back, stronger than ever.

Sighing, she took an extra breath to straighten out her thoughts. "Anyway...I'm turning twenty-nine in the fall. It's been seven long, hard years of being by myself, of having to fight by myself, of building dreams meant only for me. Neal doesn't really count as anything." Grinning ruefully, she clarified, "And I'm...I'm kind of tired of it all."

He crooked an eyebrow. "Is that an invitation, Miss Swan?"

She chuckled at his renewed efforts to be flirtatious when she was doing the opposite ― trying to be serious. "I guess...not?" He laughed, biting down on his lower lip. "After Neal, I don't know what to think about 'the dating life.' I mean, we were together for almost a  _year_ , and then he dropped such a bomb on me. I can only think that I must have been quite the figurine he was carting around ― like his own mother even said." Her fingers had found her temples, and she was rubbing them furiously. "Look, I'm sorry to trouble you with―"

"It's not a problem," he interrupted. "You're no trouble, Emma. True, you're fatally beautiful, bewitching...but never a bother." Then he winked at her for good measure.

His words were probably supposed to get her to laugh, or smile, but instead she felt her skin burn from the heat of his compliments. "Thanks, but...you don't have to flatter me, you know."

Graham looked... _distraught_. "I would never say something I didn't mean." Gently, he took her free hand in his and raised it to his lips. "Emma Swan, you are worth every word and every moment. Don't forget that, alright?"

"Is the sheriff's deputy  _scolding_  me?"

His eyes blazed. "Only because you're being  _very_  stubborn."

She bowed her head in mock obeisance. "Well, I apologize for the inconvenience, Officer Humbert..."

"Nah, never met him. That bloke's stuck in an office somewhere. I'm  _Graham ―_ his fun, exuberant twin."

The click-clack of her modestly high heels over the pavement matched the rhythm of her chuckles as they proceeded to get closer and closer to her apartment. And with every closer step, Emma dreaded what would inevitably come next: the reality of what a possible relationship entailed.

She didn't know if she was ready for that ― if she would  _ever_  be ready for that. It was one thing to dance with a man, talk to him companionably enough...but another story to date him. One stolen kiss wasn't going to fling her into anyone's arms.

"What did he do to you, that you can't forgive him?"

The quiet way he said it caught her off guard. She nearly stumbled over her feet and her frantic heart.

"He...he..."  _Slow and steady, now..._  "He left me. When he told me he would stay."

"Did he have a reason? A good reason?" His eyebrows arched. "Or a bad one?"

Her shoulders slumped. "I don't know. I've...I've never asked him." Her posture straightened like a whip had cracked against her back. "Wait...why the heck are you asking me this?" Her eyes narrowed. "I don't even know you...that well. To be talking about my  _love life_ , of all things."

"You're right ― we don't know each other."

Startled by his quick agreement, she gaped at Graham. "Then―"

"Please, allow me to clarify," he interrupted, sounding patient rather than exasperated with her change of attitude. "Personally, I'd like to  _get_  to know you." His eyes raked over the light tint of the apartment complex's walls, passing the wide, large French windows, before descending downward to peruse her face once more. "Yes, your past affairs are none of my business, Emma," he soothed, a half-smile inching upward. "But I need to be honest with you. I only met you ― what, a few hours ago? And believe me...I've had an amazing time. But Emma...you were just in the same space as your ex, and to me..."

He peered down at his shoes, shy all over again. "Look, I understand how it is. Regina was a big part of my life for a long time ― I watched her graduate from the academy, and we were partners for years before she got promoted. I still...I still think of her. I've accepted that she doesn't love me anymore ― that maybe she never did ― but even though I don't feel anything for her, I will always care. I'll hear her name pop up in random conversations, and I'll want to listen in on what's going on in her life. I'll see her in the same restaurant or coffee shop sometimes, and I'll want to stop by her table and ask her how she's been, what she's doing now."

"What does this have to do with―"

"You know, you owe it to yourself," he blurted out. "Don't feel guilty about it ― about  _him_. From what you've told me, he... He made you feel like you belonged. And there's no greater feeling than that ― the feeling like you've found home, with someone you care for."

Emma had read about veterans of World War I, how they had been literally shell-shocked during the war and afterwards. This must be what it felt like for them: caught, unaware, in a dark, nasty trap that was about to suffocate you. "I..." she swallowed thickly, biting back those stupid tears ready to fall, "I've left that behind me, Graham. I'm...I'm  _not_  in love with Killian anymore."

His voice was very gentle when he said, "Perhaps. But I think that everything happens for a reason. Seeing him? For the first time in how many years? Emma, you shouldn't pass this opportunity up. You should take this chance ― for the sake of closure, at least."

She scoffed. "What good would it do?" Her fingers tugged at the neckline of her dress as her skin grew hot. "He broke my heart. He broke  _me_."

"And you have got to know why. Whatever he did, no matter how bad...if there's anything I've learned well while working in law enforcement, it's that there are always two sides to every story. Hearing him out, if he wants to talk... Don't you see? It will only  _help_  you to finally move on." His thumb was brushing off the salty droplets that were undoubtedly leaving mascara stains all over her cheeks. Then his hand curved around her neck as he leaned in, his mouth hovering over hers. "It's not fair ― to either person ― if we're thinking of someone else when it's just us here."

Sniffling, Emma glanced at the busy street filled with traffic. The streetlamps cast light over the windshields of speeding cars, making the glass twinkle ― like the stars overhead, so faint because of the city's brightness. It was noisy and loud and invasive, no privacy to be found. But in the midst of this chaos, there was silence in this little corner of truth that she and Graham had made. Basically, he wanted her to confront Killian, to face him directly ―  _and get over herself, damn it_. But what Graham didn't see was how much such a conversation would hurt her. How would she even be able to trust any explanation that came out of her former lover's mouth?

"What if I can't go through with it?" she whispered, gasping when Graham brushed his lips over hers. The soft contact relaxed her heart, calming it. A sigh left her.

He smiled, nudging her nose with his. "A wise person once told me: 'don't let the pain of a broken heart stop you from living your life the way you want to.' You're so strong, Emma. You deserve to find happiness. I believe in that ― and in you. Of course, it's your choice alone, but..whatever you decide...do me a favor?" She raised an eyebrow at him. He chuckled. "Don't doubt yourself. Don't spend time on regrets. Remember that you're not doing this for him ― you'll be doing it for yourself. And that's what matters the most."

"That's what matters," she repeated slowly, wondering how they could be having such an intimate talk in front of her apartment building, of all places. Why the heck hadn't she asked him in?

He must have read her mind ― or the confusion in her eyes as she gazed at him ― because a devious grin appeared moments later, and there was a definite sparkle in his eyes, matching that of the street lights. "I know ― what a career I would have had, if I had cared to study psychology instead of bloody criminal justice."

Laughing, Emma turned to the door, shoving her key into the lock. When the entrance stood open and free, she paused. Was it too soon? Was she doing the right thing? Was Graham right? " _In another life, I could be your girl...it'd be us against the world..."_ Those were old dreams, old haunting wishes. She couldn't go back to being Killian's girl, under any circumstances.

"Hey...would you like to come up...for a cup of tea or something?"  _Damn, she did not have to sound like some wide-eyed teenager because she was inviting him to her place. She was fricking old enough to be alone with a man, and an attractive one at that―_

"Actually," he chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, "I'm going to pass ― but thank you."

In her hurry to escape from the sudden stab of hurt coursing through her body, she tried to wedge herself through the tiny gap left, the door suddenly swinging in when she lost her grip on it. But a large hand caught it at the last moment, when the heavy iron was about to close in on her, and held it open.

"Emma..." His brogue was rich and warm, assailing all of her senses. "It's not that I don't want to." He searched her eyes, a pleading look in his own. "I..."

"It's okay." She waved off his attempt to assuage her. "I'm used to rejection." Bitterness was in her tone, despite her efforts to hide it away.

"No ― it's not that at all." His arm curled around her waist then, pulling her with him so that they were now secluded in the hallway leading to the stairs. The door clanked closed, silencing the world in one beat. "God, Emma, you're ― you're so bloody beautiful ― and stubborn ― and  _feisty_  ― and I'm very in tune to those facts. But we've both had quite a bit to drink, lass. If we went up together right now..." His heated stare was making her stomach flip in and out. "Well, there's no point in denying I really like you, is there?"

She couldn't help running her fingers through some of his hair that was falling in front of his eyes, pushing it to the side. "I like you too," she admitted quietly.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing another kiss onto it. "Let's take things slow, alright? I don't want to push you into anything..."

"Okay." She smiled, her worry turning into affection. How touching, that he cared about how  _she_  would feel in the morning if they went too far, carnal drives superseding all common sense. "Yeah, you're absolutely right," she breathed out. Why was slow romance thought such an insult in this day and age, anyway? "We've got time ― all the time in the world. Just...don't run out on me if things get tough?"

He shook his head, curls dancing from the movement. "No bloody way. You'll definitely be hearing from me very soon, if I have anything to say about it. And now you know where to find me."

* * *

The image she carried in the forefront of her mind through the night, other than those of them dancing and singing the night away in the club, was how Graham had kissed her good-bye after they exchanged phone numbers.

She had thought she was too old and worn for such passion.  _Looks like I was dead wrong_ , she murmured to the empty bedroom, snuggling into the sheets before shifting onto her side. Bruno Mars sang at low volume from her player, plaintively talking to the moon as he tried to make his audience cry.

_Hell, it was high time she dreamed of another instead of a certain blue-eyed devil who had pirated her heart when she was young._

_And as for meeting Killian, in the flesh, again...she'd think on it. Thanks a lot, Graham._

God, she was smiling too much tonight. Way too much.

_Hmm, and while she's at it, maybe she should really think about giving Ruby a raise..._

* * *

It was wrinkled. Terribly wrinkled. It had been folded about eight times, and the result was a crumpled bit of paper that looked like it had been chewed on and then spat out. When bent out and straightened, it kind of resembled a respectable business card. Kind of.  _God, what had she done to it?_

Emma's fingers continued to tremble as she dialed the office number, not trusting herself to hang on long enough to get connected if outer forces weren't involved. Maybe the secretary would be gone for lunch, there would be no answer, and she'd go straight to voicemail. Or maybe the phone line was plain dead because of a power outage or cut wires, and this delay would ensure―

A cheery voice answered after the dial tone sung, dashing her timid hopes to pieces. "Good morning, you've reached the office of Killian Jones, at the Avid Gilder. How may I direct your call?"

Her suit suddenly felt too tight, and her office was too small, and everything was wrong, wrong  _wrong_... Her face flushed, and the heat burned down until she was desperate to just drop the damn call and forget all about this.  _She didn't need to see him._

"Hello?"

Then she caught sight of the large vase just on the edge of her desk, filled with blooming orchids of every color.

She could recall exactly what the accompanying note said, word for word:  _Greetings, Emma ― hope you're not allergic to the heavy scent... I was thinking of you and wanted to make you smile, so when I saw these flowers in the street florist's shop, I knew I had to send them to you. They are bloody gorgeous... Like you. Talk to you soon, lovely lady._ " Signed,  _Graham_ , in what was truly impressive handwriting.

_You're strong. You can do this._

Her voice wavered, but she cleared her throat several times to get rid of that weakness. "Uh...hi―"

"Hello there, honey ― what can I do for you?"

Geez, did he hire some sixty-year-old granny to be his secretary or something? Emma rolled her eyes. "Hello to you too." She sighed. "I'd...I'd like to speak to...um, Mr. Jones."

There was some scratching on the other end of the line. "May I know who's calling before I put you through, dear?"

This was it. The moment. It was terrifying. It was life-changing.

It was the next step, and she was taking it. At least she'd have the satisfaction of knowing she had tried, if nothing worked out.

"Yes," she said firmly, throwing caution to the wind of the past. "Please tell him that this is Emma Swan ― and that I want to talk to him. Please, I need to speak with Killian Jones, as soon as possible."

* * *

 


	5. Part V

_Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to meet here, of all places_ , Emma mused, tapping her fingernails against the tabletop.

The diner was a respectable eatery. Roomy, not that crowded, a savory menu, good old-fashioned music ― not to mention the fact that it was run by none other than Ruby's grandmother, Mrs. Lucas, a stern old lady with a heart of gold.

Whenever Ruby would coax Emma to come out here after work, for dinner or just for drinks, "Granny," as she liked to be called, would fuss over both of them. Like a mother hen...or a mother wolf, considering how she had once told Victor off and promised to eviscerate him if he ever broke her granddaughter's heart. The man was scared to death of her and always acted like a cowed little boy in her presence. Emma could only imagine what kind of lecture Granny would give Graham if he ever came along.

No, it wasn't the diner that had her worried. It was the atmosphere ― the feeling of family and home and familiarity that was evoking such dread in the pit of her stomach, striking at her core. How would she face  _him_  here, when he was truly all of those things for her?

"Love, you look like you're about to run." As if emerging from a dream, Killian Jones was standing in front of her, decked out in a dark navy suit and black tie, hair messily arranged in a stylish manner. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Granny stop short and stare at them. No wonder. The man in question looked like he always did: ready to kill with his looks.

Emma felt herself flush. He always did have to make quite an entrance, didn't he?  _And damn it, he knew exactly the kind of effect he had on women. Including her. Especially her._  "As far as I know," she retorted, furious at his growing smirk, "it's  _bad form_  to walk out before you hear what your opponent has to say."

"Opponent? Me? Darling, I prefer dashing rapscallion." He took a seat across from her, making himself comfortable on the plush cushioned bench. "I didn't realize this was a negotiation of sorts." His expression shifted suddenly, from smug to uncertain. Then he swallowed hard. "Or that you consider me to be your... _enemy_."

The last thing she wanted was to discuss their never-ending feud, where he claimed he still loved her and she wanted nothing more than to hate him passionately for the rest of her life. "Look...if you came here to bring up old―"

"I didn't." He flashed her his signature smile. " _You_  called me, remember?"

Emma sighed, peering steadily at her lap. Who said this was going to be easy? "Yeah...I did."

His voice was husky now. "Then why don't you even want to look at me?"

When his gaze caught hers, it was filled with so much pain that she had to look away from him. Look at anything but how he was deliberately pressing her for a response with those soul-searching eyes of his.

"Killian, I..." she began.

"Hello, Emma. And ― well, well, well. Look what the proverbial cat dragged in." Granny was appraising them over her half-moon glasses, hands on her hips, customary pencil stuck in her ear. Emma glanced between her and Killian. He had the strangest smile on his face, one she could tell was genuine and not forced.

_Wait, did they...?_

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Lucas." He nodded at her. "It's lovely to see you again too."

Granny chuckled. "Now Killian, how many times have I told you to call me Granny? I haven't seen you for so long, I thought you bailed out on your morning breakfast for good ― it's been over a month since you've visited," she added, a hint of reproach in her tone.

"Apologies, milady ― it wasn't for a lack of trying, I assure you."

"No doubt ― I know how hard you work." Finally, she acknowledged Emma. "It's nice to see you again, dear."

Emma covered her face with her hands as Granny chattered more with Killian.  _Bad idea ― this was a very, very bad idea, meeting here. Why did her life have to be so shitty? Honestly. As if things couldn't get any worse..._

"―well, enough of me. What can I get you two? Any special dishes for your date?"

"Excuse me?" She shook her head frantically. "Uh, no ― Granny, we're not―"

"No need to be shy, Emma ― after what happened with Neal, you deserve to be strutting around with this one―"

Her face was turning red, judging by the extreme rush of blood that was going to her head at the moment. Coughing loudly and clearing his throat, Killian somehow had sensed her distress and intervened. "Lass, if it wouldn't be too much trouble―"

"Glass of water's already coming right up." The woman was scribbling away on her pad. "So what will it be, kids ― spaghetti with meatless marinara and breadsticks on the side? Or fish and chips with homemade tartar sauce?"

Food?  _Bah_. Emma was going to puke. Her friend's own  _grandmother_  knew Killian ― pretty well, by the looks of it.  _God, this whole meeting was screwed up from the start..._

Someone must have said something in the meantime, because Granny was walking away, offering a little wave and the wish "Have fun" on her way back to the main counter. Killian was chuckling, absently running a hand through his hair.

She groaned under her breath. "So...anyway...the reason I wanted―"

"Excuse me?" One of the customers sitting in the booth across from them, a middle-aged woman, was tapping Killian on the shoulder. "Hi ― sorry to bother you―"

True to his nature, he brushed off the interruption and gave her a dazzling grin. "No problem, milady ― how can I be of service?"

The woman  _giggled_. "Wow!" she said breathlessly. "Such good manners...such a gentleman... Look ― I normally don't do these kinds of things...but I saw you and...well, here's my number."

Emma coughed back a snort. How typical. He just would be picking up new dates right during the one time she needed to―

"Mom!" The lanky teenager who had been sitting next to the intruder in question nearly collided into their table. "You're supposed to give him our home phone, not your cell!" she whined, jumping impatiently up and down so that her bare midriff jiggled. "How else will I get a chance to talk to him too?!"

Rolling her eyes, Emma pretended to search through her purse while Killian politely distracted his new admirers, handing his business card to the mother and winking at her daughter. Both women blushed, chattering loudly as they exited the diner.

"Seems you're giving those out to anyone these days."

He leaned back, legs stretching out beneath the table. She made sure there was no chance for him to play footsie with her by tucking her legs far away from his reach.

"You never know where a beneficial connection could be made," he said, shrugging. "She could be the daughter of a stock broker, for all I know."

She shook her head in disbelief. "That's not what the Killian Jones I knew would say."

His intense gaze was steady, pinning her to her seat. "Oh? Is that an observation or criticism, darling?" A smiling waitress quietly slipped two glasses of ice water onto their table, leaving without a word. Immediately, he circled the rim with one finger, eventually dipping it inside and then sucking on the wet tip while he pointedly stared at her.

Emma's mouth went dry.  _God, he hadn't let up with his seduction techniques in all these years._  "It was," she cleared her throat, "meant to be a  _comment_. You never viewed people as possibilities for profit before."

He scoffed. "For the record, I was trying to be  _nice_  to her. Lord knows that rejection is better blunt than sharp. In a few days, she'll get the message, and there will be no need for tears. End of story."

"And, um, what is the message?"

"That I'm clearly not interested in  _either_." He smiled wryly.

Before she knew it, their order ―  _his_  order ― was being placed in front of them. Fish and chips, with more chips than fish for her.  _He had remembered._ Emma ducked her head, unable to even glance at the food. As soon as Granny was out of sight, she pushed her plate far off to the side.

"Not hungry?" Killian was nibbling on his fish fillet, wielding his fork and knife like an aristocrat might. "I imagine that, after a long day at the office, you'd be famished."

She gulped, hands tightly clasped together on her lap. "No, thanks. I...I didn't come here to eat. Besides, Graham took me out for lunch, so..." His glare was icy, his lips set in a taut line. "What?"

His throat bobbed, another clear sign he was upset. "You're seeing him?" he accused. "That daft bloke you danced with that night?"

Her own temper flared to life. "You know, that's really  _rich_ , coming from you. You were walking all over Miss Tink-what's-her-name at the club, you let Milah walk all over you at the wedding, you encourage random advances from even underage girls..."

He crooked one eyebrow at her. "Jealous?"

"God, how many times do we have to go over this? No, I'm  _not_  jealous ― but I'm shocked  _you_  are."

Now he was  _bristling_. "Of that sodding wanker? Not a chance."

"His name is Graham," she snapped. "And yes, I'm seeing him ― he's a good guy. He actually cares about my feelings, unlike some people..."

His voice was a low growl. "I didn't come here to argue with you, love."

"Well, from what I can hear, you're already doing a damn good job of it, so why the hell  _did_  you come?"

"Because I wanted to see you again, Emma ―  _bloody damnation_ , I'd probably do anything under the bloody sun concerning you!" he shouted back.

Just like that, the conversation lapsed into reverberating silence.

* * *

Emma's gaze flickered around the semi-crowded room. God, she felt horribly embarrassed ― she didn't come here to cause a scene... Fighting the urge to just leave, she squeezed her hands together. "Okay, let's start over." Her stomach curdled. "I really didn't know how to come here today ― how to make myself...convince myself...that this really is the right thing to do."

Killian looked like he wanted to interrupt, but she didn't let him. "But I've been thinking, hard, on everything ― our past, the future we wanted together...the love I had for you." Her legs were shaking, damn it. "In the interest of not giving a soap opera confession, I need to say this."

Her eyes found his, hooded and dark and hurting. "Killian...I've spent too many years crying after you and what we  _could_  have had. So I'm going to do something I rarely do these days." A great sigh left her lips, and her whole body was ragged. "I forgive you."

His jaw, clenched, went slack. "You're going to―"

"I want a new life." She fidgeted in her seat. "I can't keep living in the past ― I'm tired of it. Us, the life we shared ― they're just memories now. They're not real anymore."

He had bent his head, his hands out of sight, his plate now untouched. Emma guessed he had withdrawn into himself, something he did often when he was in denial about the truth. And when he felt vulnerable.  _Hiding within, when he was pressured without._

Somewhere, deep inside this strange man was the sweet boy she once knew, the one who gave her a swan pendant for her birthday and took care of her without asking for anything in return. She had been so young and immature and weak when they first met...so insecure, and so desperate for love. Yes, she had clung to him, but he was good and kind and made it worth her while. It wasn't out of gratitude that she had fallen in love with him. Despite being a child at heart himself, his strength held her up until they were growing together, in so many ways. When they wanted to love, they did so without the fear from their beginnings.

And she would always, always love him for helping her be herself. All of the foster parents in all the homes had seen her as only one thing: an orphan. He saw her as someone who had been abandoned and needed to be found.

_In the midst of her pain, and his own, he had found her._

She stretched out her arm under the table, covering his hand with her own. And, surprising herself, a small smile curled her lips.  _He hadn't changed ― not really. He wasn't different...just older, and exhausted. Like she was._

"Killian..." she whispered, "it's okay."

His fingers came to life then, gently entwining themselves with hers. "It is certainly not okay that I left you, Emma." His blue eyes, clear and sad, caught her. "You deserve to know why ― the truth ― all of it."

She shrugged. "I agree, but...it doesn't really matter―"

"It does!" He exhaled deeply, running his other hand through his hair. "It  _does_  matter, love. Deny it all you like, but that's why you decided to see me again. You need to know  _why_."

Nodding, she pursed her lips. "Yes."

"It's...not an easy story to tell." Killian was staring at her again, as if trying to keep her in place. He probably could feel how she was fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing her legs every few minutes.  _Another one of her nervous tics._ "If you remember," he lowered his voice, "my older brother, Liam, was in the military since he came of age."

"Yeah...and that he went missing during one of his missions."

He chuckled darkly, chewing on his bottom lip. It gave the impression that he was grinning wryly, when he was actually frowning. "That's what I was told, yes. But unfortunately...that was quite far from the truth..."

"Liam...well, he always was an independent sort. Eager to prove himself to the world, show that he was strong... Our father's fault, those notions ― if we hadn't had to practically raise ourselves, maybe my brother wouldn't have gotten the bloody idea to be so damn  _patriotic_ ," he said through gritted teeth.

Emma winced, withdrawing her hands from his and slipping them into her pockets. Liam's disappearance had been a constant source of pain for Killian ever since she had met him. She never wanted to re-open his old wounds because of her own need for closure. But...she was at risk here too, wasn't she?

Swallowing hard, he continued. "He became so determined that he kept me in the dark and joined the CIA behind my back."

"What?"

Killian glared at the table, his lips curling into a snarl. "Aye...all those years, when he was writing me...all those vows to have me join him back in England...that we'd explore the world together...such lies." Finally, he looked up at her. "He lied to me, Emma. While I was thinking he was dead, he was offered a position as an agent, and he took it without a second thought. All because he had great plans for the future."

"Well, why didn't you just talk to him about it?"

"Hah ― talk to Liam? Oh, we did. He bloody called me ― the very  _second_  before I was about to drive to city hall that day." He leaned back in his seat, eyes closing, head on the soft headrest. "I missed my own bloody  _wedding_  because my big brother had to go and get himself involved in some damn shit."

Her mind was spinning. "Wait...are you saying that you didn't show and ruined my life because of a stupid  _phone call_?" she screeched, ready to slap him. "How the hell could you do that to me?!"

Memories of herself emerged. Dressed in a simple white sweater dress that Killian loved, her locks pulled into a bun, the second rare time she'd allowed herself to wear high heels. Donning her best jewelry. Standing there before the minister and the justice of peace. Waiting half an hour past the time...then an hour...then three hours...embarrassed, shaken, wounded,  _hurt_. The bouquet of lilies she'd brought, all wilted to a shade of dark brown. Her short veil, wet and sweaty and, eventually, thrown into the trash on her way out.  _Alone_.

The agony of being abandoned by someone she loved so deeply ―  _so completely_  ― was ten times worse than the pain of never being wanted by all of her foster families. Worse than being rejected by parents she'd never met.

She had been there, ready to take those pledges of commitment and fidelity, knowing she'd never break them. Knowing that he would never break them either. But boy, had she been wrong...

"I wanted to race to you and tell you, darling." He seemed to be making up an excuse. Her blood simmered, and she prepared the palm of her hand― "But see, Liam was calling me from the  _hospital_. After  _five years_  of not hearing from him."

Emma hesitated. "I still don't understand. Why all the secrecy? Why not just go to him ― with  _me_?  _Why not tell me?_ "

Killian shrugged, his eyes remarkably sad. "Because, Emma...he  _begged_  me not to," he rasped. "We were inseparable since my infancy, even though he was seven years my senior. I have only heard Liam cry once: when our mother died, suffocated to death because cancer had forced her to starvation. Hearing him cry, on the phone, when he pleaded with me to visit him...by myself... That he was  _dying_...that he needed me to help him take care of a case that had great consequences for us and our nation...  _Bloody hell_ , I couldn't refuse my own  _brother_  his death wish."

Shattered, she bit back tears. "But you could have taken me with you, Killian. I didn't care about the wedding ― truly. I just wanted to be  _with_  you. I still don't see―"

"Liam had discovered incriminating evidence about his employer," he spat out. "Turns out Albert George Spencer, head of the CIA agency branch in that area, had tricked him into a web of deceit that included the manufacture of illegal chemical weapons. Nothing that would start World War III, but enough that death would quite swift and unseen toward the man's enemies and the foreign guerillas he intended to sell them to. He also was entangled with a very powerful man nicknamed Gold, who had heavy dealings with the criminal underworld ― not to mention that Spencer had friends in high places. The man was virtually unstoppable, quite a bloody piece of work ―  _a fucking, self-serving bastard_. Liam's defiance of his orders was just the tip of the iceberg."

"So you're saying that you didn't come, left without a word, and basically _abandoned_  me for the next six years for  _my own safety_?" She snorted, trying to hide how crushed she felt. In the end, Killian had loved his own brother more than her, that he'd drop everything and go to him without even thinking of her. It only proved...how she would never be worth anyone's love. "I'll never forget how the cops at the police station looked at me when I filed a missing person report ― only to inform me, after quite a show of hysterics on my part, that your passport had been checked...that it was showing you had left the country the  _previous night_. They looked at me like I was a goddamn fool."

He at least had the decency to look ashamed. "Love, it was a fucked up situation...and it was because it was so complicated that Liam was very insistent I come alone. Emma...he  _died_.  _In my arms_ ," he choked out. "The doctors said it was from toxic poisoning, one that became lethal over a period of time. It must have happened right after Liam found out Spencer's plans."

He was staring at the floor, eyes glistening and cold. "I had never felt anguish like that in my whole life, as I watched life leave his body. I would have followed him to the end of the world, if he only let me. Liam was a stubborn arse ― too bloody trusting, and too bloody willing to serve a cause ― but he was my brother, and I loved him. Before you...he was all I had. Finding out that he was alive, and then losing him again...for me, it was like he died twice."

Now it was her turn to look away, anywhere but at the loss and grief he was clearly remembering all over again. There was a time when she would have gathered him into her arms and held him, encouraging him to grieve so that he could heal, that pain always lessened after a good cry. She would have comforted him, unless he asked her to go. Seeing him like this...it dug at her resolve to hate him.

"Emma, lass..." He reached for her. "You know I rarely apologize to anyone... But for what it's worth, I can never say I'm sorry enough for all the distress and pain I've caused you. Please believe me when I say that I wanted nothing more than to marry you that day. It was just―"

" _Really_  bad timing?" she scoffed, ignoring how his face crumpled when she didn't take his hand. She sighed, not wanting to be cruel, despite her anger. "You know, Killian...I'll be honest. Half of what you've said belongs in a crime novel, and the other half is fit for a greeting card. Your apology is...great...long over-due...but frankly? Doesn't help. Not one little bit."

His voice was so quiet and plaintive when he said, "But, love, I'm ready to make amends―"

"How?" She waved her hands in the air, exasperated by the excess of information he'd given her. "Those years we lost...they're gone. I can't travel back in time and  _not_  misunderstand your departure as an ultimatum for our relationship. To me, it was pretty simple: you freaked out, on the day we were about to get married, and you  _dumped_  me. Plus, you left me with the toy shop and our apartment and not a single  _fucking_  clue as to where you had gone."

"What...what happened to the shop? To Marco?" His lower lip was trembling slightly.

Swallowing, she clenched her jaw. "I had to sell it pretty soon afterwards ― I couldn't afford to maintain it on my own. There was this guy...Maurice...he bought a flower shop in town, but there wasn't much demand for a florist, so he was interested in selling less perishable merchandise. His daughter, Belle ― she became the local librarian. I met them both when they visited the shop. They're good people. I explained my previous plans for the store, they liked them... Four months later, the shop was remodeled, redesigned, and business was booming. My tradition of story-playing Saturdays for the kids lived on because of Belle." It still stung that her biggest dream had been fractured like that. "And Marco...I got an invitation, a year after you left, from August Booth ― his son, requesting I come to his father's funeral."

There were no outbursts of sobbing, no dramatic scenes, no screaming. Just one Killian Jones, looking very much like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. He was twisting in his seat so much, eyes downcast and lips in a firm line, that she could bet he was fighting his own reactions, trying to keep cool and collected for his own sake.

"So..." She took a deep breath, willing her emotions to not overrun. "Let me get this straight: your brother was alive all this time, working covertly for the government, and the consequences caught up to him when he realized his boss was a class asshole, not to mention a traitor. He killed Liam because he knew too much and was prepared to take him down for his actions―"

"Right."

"So I guess...there's just one question left: why the heck are you still alive, if this was such a dangerous case I couldn't know about?"

He was resting his face in his hands, arms propped up by his elbows. "I went to the government with Liam's written statement and a few choice letters, they gave me witness protection for the duration of the trial. With my testimony on my brother's behalf, that he confided to me Spencer's secrets...the man was convicted of treason. He got the death penalty. And then...well...it was kind of a tribute, really..."

She groaned inwardly. "There's something else?"

"Aye...I, um...I joined the Navy, right after Liam's burial. I gave him my word that I would tell no one about this whole messy business, even though the trial reached the big ears of the bloody press, but somehow...my name was kept out of the spotlight, as promised, and I was able to disappear when it was all over. Justice was done, the criminals caught ― well, not all of them ― but I had done my duty in helping my brother, and I put down his killer. But...I couldn't go back to you, because I knew there wasn't the slightest chance you'd forgive me for what I'd done ― and my home was gone, there was no family to speak of... I had nothing left. Therefore, I clung to my new job: being a sailor 'for King and Country.' Wanted to become a bloody  _decorated hero_ , to honor Liam. After a couple years' service to Her Majesty, I reached the rank of lieutenant, then captain...the military paid for the rest of my education, I was honorably discharged and I went into design, like I'd originally wanted. I changed from job to job until I was back here again. It took some time for me to get the promotion I wanted, but... Well, the rest is history. The medals are in a box somewhere in my closet, getting dusty and old. Like me."

"Hmph." The diner was getting empty, which probably meant it was near closing time. Had they really talked for that many hours? "You probably had many adventures."

He shook his head. "I got to see much, it's true, but... _Emma_..." His gaze was entreating and sincere and  _so blue, like the sea_. While she was transfixed by it, his voice was reaching into her chest and  _squeezing_  her heart. "Falling in love with you was the greatest adventure I ever had."

 _I really need a drink._ Emma sighed deeply, shrugging off the spark of hope she felt, just for a moment. "A good ending line, Jones ― God, after all these years, you still know how to out-talk anyone." She was aiming for dry humor, but it came out as sarcasm.

The light in his eyes faded, and his throat bobbed. "You don't believe a word I've said."

"No..." she countered, trying to be gentle. It wasn't like he hadn't suffered ― he  _had_ , tremendously. But it was hard to be unselfish in this moment, when she was aching. "I  _do_  believe you. And...Killian, I'm sorry about Liam. I wish...I could have met him. But I still think you made a mistake in leaving me behind, no matter what he requested." Taking a sip of water, she licked at her lips. "When you love someone...really, truly love someone...you fight battles  _together_. It's what a couple does ― because you're not separate people anymore. Your futures and lives are connected."

"I agree." He was leaning over the table so much, she thought he would fall down on it. "I was trying to protect you, but I bloody  _failed_. And I've had to live with my guilt and my shame every single bloody day since then. Some regrets cannot go away."

She pursed her lips. "For someone who's suffered for so long from a broken heart, you recovered nicely."

"Oh? Did I? How many women have I been with since you?" Rolling his eyes, he made a show of counting on his fingers. "That's right ―  _zero_ ," he snapped.

She spat back, "Don't blame me for―"

"I'm not blaming you, lass ― I'm saying, as clearly as I can, that I never got over you. You've always been the  _only_  one I've wanted. Meeting you changed my life ― and losing you broke it into pieces."

"What about Milah? Tink?" she accused. "They looked pretty cozy with you, from my perspective at least..."

"One was a harmless escort, the other a colleague who wanted a night out," he drawled, "but no, darling, I slept with  _neither_  of them."

"There could have been others."

"Of course. But look me in the eye, right now. Tell me that I'm lying to you when I say that I've never cheated on you. Not once." He smiled a little when she found herself speechless, unable to argue. "Swan, you  _know_  I'm telling the truth ― you  _feel_  it, in your gut."

Dimly, playing in the background, she could hear music. The strains of the chorus for "After All" reigned on, the lead singers epitomizing true love that was perfect in spite of all flaws.

_Two angels, who've been rescued from the fall..._

Then the song selection switched to a mournful Josh Groban and his "Confessions," and she wanted to bury herself in tissues and gallons of ice cream. Could her life not be any more screwed?

* * *

Her phone started to ring, startling her.  _Yes_ , whatever fate or destiny or godhead was up there  _finally_  had mercy and rescued her from―

"Go on...pick it up, love." Killian seemed so resigned, fiddling with the golden rings on his fingers as he mulled darkly over some silent thought. He had stacked their dishes in a neat pile, her meal still untouched. By all accounts, he was just waiting for the bill, not caring about anything else. His stare was glassy, fixed on the opposite wall.

A glance at the damn device told her it was Ruby, probably asking to confirm their plans for the evening. Wait, what time  _was_  it? " _Shit_ ," she hissed, staring at the numbers on her phone screen. "I'm late."

"Late?" he repeated in a monotone.

"Yeah...my friend, uh, arranged another double date ― Graham's most likely prowling in front of my apartment." Her hands began to shake. This was the end ― he'd told her his story, as murky as could be, and now she had to come to a decision. There was no way to erase the past, but she could start the future on a new foot...without the effervescent memory of Killian Jones, her first sweetheart and long-lasting love. The man who had touched her in so many goddamn ways.

Trying to squeeze her phone inside her purse, her fingers brushed over an envelope.  _Oh, God. She'd almost forgotten, damn it._

"Hey, I have something..." She offered it to him. "This is for you."

He chuckled sadly, thumbing at the sealed flap to open it. "What is it? One last love letter?"

Her cheeks became inflamed. "Um...kind of?"

The expression on his face was priceless as he perused the list that could only ever be for him. "The perfect man...and yet, not so perfect," he murmured, raking his sight over his lost present. Then he pulled out the engagement ring he'd given her, and her eyes watered. "You kept these, all this time?" He sounded incredulous.

She nodded. Suddenly, all she could see was her lap, where it was safe ― because she wouldn't have to catch his gaze and read what he was feeling, as he remembered the memories behind the words written on that stupid piece of paper. "For a while...I hoped beyond hope that you'd come back to me. Then, as years piled on, I used it to measure other men. Neal almost passed," she said with a wry laugh. "But that fell apart and at the end, I wondered how I'd been so blind. I realized why. Those qualities...they were always based on  _you_." She could barely stifle the rise of longing in her voice or how her throat was now congested, her nose already running.

"I loved you long after you were gone, Killian, and in a way, I'll always love you, no matter whom I'm with. Nothing can take away the happiness we shared those years we were together. Sometimes I forget that you helped me to find myself, that your love wasn't the only foothold I got ― but tonight, I've been reminded." She gave him a shy smile, peeking at him from under her eyelashes. From being mute and sullen, he appeared to have been electrified during her little speech, attentive to her every word, glowing with something she could not name.

Her phone rang again, chiming her cue. _It was time...time to say good-bye._  "Thank you," she whispered. "For all that we did have. I'll never forget. Take care, Killian." On impulse, she took the hand he'd left exposed, the one she hadn't accepted. It was still limp in her hold while she raised it to her lips and softly kissed the palm. Was it only her imagination that his pulse jumped when hers did? That memories of lazy times spent in bed, making love and talking themselves tired, spanned across her mind and were reflected in his eyes?

Rising out of her seat, she stood up, straightening the back of her dress before slipping out of the small space. Killian just sat there, unmoving, continuing to watch her.

An image came into her mind, one of when he lifted her into his arms and twirled her around their kitchen, elated that she'd said yes to his proposal. God, they had been so young and crazy in love.  _Why did they have to get broken?_

"Wait―" He was standing too, clasping her hand. "Emma...would it be possible for us...for me...could I see you again?" He brushed a finger along her cheek. His touch made her spine tingle.

 _Instincts in gear and safeguards up, Emma._ She pulled back from his grasp. "I...I don't think that would be such a good idea―

"Please?" His voice was gruff. "I'd like for us to talk more...bloody hell, I've missed so much of your life..."

"You want to get to know me again?" She cocked her head at him. "Killian, you wouldn't like what you'd find out. We are not the same people we once were. We're...we're strangers, now. I don't know who you are anymore. Actually, I never did."

Emma literally witnessed the moment his heart broke, when it was written all over his face. "Of course," he mumbled at last, stepping back. "If that's what you want, lass."

* * *

Granny waved to Emma before she left. The night sky outside was filled with glittering stars. The streets were kind of stark and empty. But she couldn't really see anything. Couldn't feel anything, but the weight of the recent conversation hanging over her. Mostly, it was the sight of him, the wretchedness in his wide gaze and slumped posture when she'd turned around to look at him one last time, that had affected her so much.

She had called back Ruby and told her she needed to cancel, apologized for the last-minute notice, and then turned off her phone. The walk back to her apartment was long, bland, and cool (she'd  _forgotten_  to take her jacket). There was no triumph in her steps, no sense of winning, of reprieve. It was as if she'd lost. Graham, her job, her vexation solved at last...none of that seemed important.

She  _had_  lost. She'd lost  _him_  a long time ago. And she was sorry ― yes,  _finally_ , she could admit to herself that she was so goddamned sorry to have lost Killian...as sorry as he had seemed to be about letting her go, with his distraught voice and trembling hands and stumbling words.

When she at last fell into her bed, not bothering to undress or wash up, boneless and numb... She cried for that.

For the true love young Emma had lost with young Killian, who had been perfect for her no matter his faults.

_Forgiveness should be liberating. Why then was there so much sorrow instead, chaining her down?_

_I loved him_ , she gasped out between sobs.  _I do love him ― I've always loved him, and I always will._

* * *

When she dragged herself to her desk the next morning and forced herself to do some needed work, she noticed the stack of yesterday's mail left untouched.

Browsing through it, a colorful magazine caught her eye. It was advertisement ― a travel brochure, filled with colorful pictures and tantalizing visions of paradise off in some distant land. Trips filled with pleasure and knowledge and new memories.  _New, replacing the old..._

The hunger for change growled inside her until it was raging, making her finger itch to type in the website link into her browser.  _Curiosity probably never killed the cat ― just gave it a sound spanking instead._

"Just how much it  _would_  cost these days to go around the world?" she wondered, caving in to the temptation.

_Maybe she didn't have many dreams left, but at least one was going to be fulfilled. Maybe, one way or another, she'd find her happy ending. And it didn't have to have a perfect man in the mix._


	6. Part VI

" _You cannot be serious."_

" _I am one hundred percent serious."_

" _You absolutely hate flying."_

" _That's true―"_

" _And you don't like traveling alone either."_

" _I can fix that."_

_Ruby still looked suspicious. She narrowed her eyes even further. "What the hell has gotten into you, Emma? You never take risks."_

" _Never is a strong word," she countered, slamming the file cabinet shut. "I've taken many risks in the past...just not so recently. Maybe that's why my life's so dull ― I need some excitement."_

" _If that's what you really need, I'll give you Graham's home address right now," she growled back._

_Emma stopped short, hands on her hips. "Enough. What the heck is so wrong about me taking a vacation ― I haven't been anywhere since before I was in grad school!"_

" _Because doing something this sporadic...it's not like you," Ruby argued. "Plus, I'm your friend and I care about your welfare ― you think I haven't noticed those extra restroom breaks you've been taking the past week, your excuses that you drank too much soda at lunch but then the tissue box's empty at the end of the day?" She held up a finger in warning when Emma tried to deny it. "I restocked it. And besides, you never drink soda."_

" _And your problem is...?" she snapped, irritated that her own co-worker would question her motives for going on a goddamn trip. This was not like Ruby at all to be so nosy and damn pushy._

_If the woman were a wolf, her ears would be pressed flat against her head. The color of her cheeks now matched her namesake, and her teeth were bared, glinting like knives. "My problem? Oh, I don't have a problem ― but it looks like you clearly do. And whatever it is, you're running away from it." She snorted. "Not that that's something new."_

" _What the hell is that supposed to mean?"_

_Ruby blew off air in a long exhale. Her shoulders slumped. "Nothing, boss," she muttered under her breath, moving to shuffle a random stack of papers lying on her desk._

_Outside, rain pounded against the thick windows, refusing to cease. The entire office looked gloomy and dark, with the exception of the glowing desk lamps. At first, Emma had thought renting an "eco-friendly" building would be an added bonus. In some ways, she had learned, it was still a setback. Solar power wasn't everything, especially during a thunderstorm._

_Sighing, Emma took off her glasses and then rubbed at her eyes. "Alright, let me rephrase that last question: Ruby, would you please tell me why you're fighting me so hard on this?"_

" _How many times do I have to say the same thing?" Ruby tsked, running a hand through her hair. "Start by telling me the real reason why you're doing this, and then I'll consider the pros of leaving your workload to August, of all people."_

_The more this conversation dragged on, the heavier she felt inside. "It's...it's been a long time coming, okay?"_

" _But―"_

" _Excuse me, ladies," squeaked a small, mouse-like voice. Both women jumped before turning toward the source of the sound: one very nervous, very embarrassed Mr. Smee, whose entire face was red. He was fidgeting and wringing in his hands what seemed to be a wet beanie cap. "But I have a delivery for Miss Swan?"_

_Emma groaned. How the heck had he gotten in? Damn you, August. The fat was in the fire now, if it wasn't before― "Thank you, Mr. Smee, for your time, but...I think you should leave."_

" _Leave?" He was gawking at Ruby, with pleading wide eyes. She only pursed her lips, saying nothing. "But, m'am...it's raining. I went through a storm and came all the way out here, because I'm supposed to give you―"_

_Holding up a hand, Emma tried to silence Killian's babbling assistant with a pointed stare, one she hoped was stern and commanding. "Your boss knows better than to contact me. It's better if you just take back ― whatever it is." Just because they had kind of made peace didn't mean he had the right to barge into her office with gifts, as if he were trying to buy her forgiveness._

_Couldn't he accept that he already had it, that she was done and they were done and God, it was over?_

_It was fricking over. She'd cried enough tears over him._

_Smee looked frantically between both of them. He coughed, cleared his throat, and then stammered, "But Mr. Jones ordered me specifically to give them to you ― please...I'm just doing my job."_

_Ruby's grim expression softened, fractionally, and Emma knew the fight was over. If she didn't relent, her friend would. Waving her hands in the air, she motioned toward the lobby. "Okay. Fine." She huffed through her nose, pushing back her frustration. "Just...leave it by the door. You can let yourself out."_

_The man let out a sigh, nodded, and then left._

_In seconds, they were alone again. And back to the same subject._

" _Uh, doesn't he work for Killian Jones?"_

_Emma growled inwardly. "Yes...I believe he does. So what?"_

_Ruby's eyes widened. "Wait a minute. I just talked to my Granny the other day...and she was gushing about a Killian Jones coming into her diner a few weeks ago ― god, she adores that man, calls him a 'handsome charmer' ― I've never seen her fawn over any customer like she does over him. Every time he comes by, I get an earful about what a gentleman he is and how funny he is and goddamn, her crush on him is beyond annoying. " If possible, her gaze grew more knowing. "And when he came here...to hire us...he wanted to talk to you."_

_Ah. Granny hadn't mentioned Emma being with Killian in the diner that day. It seemed the crafty old lady could be counted on to keep a secret or two, after all. She breathed a sigh of relief. "What can I say? The man gets around."_

_Emma cringed the next minute when Ruby's eyes narrowed. Guess that was the wrong thing to say. "No, I don't think so. Because exactly that week when Mr. Dark-and-Handsome paid Granny a visit...she mentioned, just in passing, that you'd stopped by as well. There's more to this than mere coincidence."_

_Shaking her head, she waddled into the other room, heels sinking into the plush carpeting._

" _You know what I think?" Ruby followed, hands on her hips. Emma could feel the woman's glower drilling into her back. "I think that you two have some kind of history. Like you said, Jones 'gets around.' Why would he pick our office out of all the graphic designers out there?"_

_She shrugged. "Coin―"_

" _No, it's not. Stop lying to me! Emma Swan, your behavior goes together all the way back to that week when Granny told me about Jones. It started then. It must have something to do with him!"_

_Emma was about to snap back some well-time retort...when she saw the bouquet of flowers on the ground. Not just some bouquet...an abundant, overflowing one, with a white bow in front and the wicker basket tastefully chosen for its natural look. Graham's sweet gestures every week or so could not compare to this excessive spillage of sweet peas and lilies and God only knows what kind of flowers. The fresh mixture of perfume was assaulting her nose, strong and persistent and heady, attacking her mind with tender memories. Memories of Killian bringing her flowers every Sunday in the early morning, saying that he wanted her to start the new week happy from seeing something purely beautiful. Like he did, on seeing her._

_She wanted to throw the whole damn thing into the garbage._

" _Hey, what the hell are you doing?" Ruby exclaimed as she grabbed the offering and moved to do just that. "They're gorgeous and must have cost―"_

" _Who cares?" Emma snorted. "I don't want it."_

" _But―" she protested._

" _If you want the stupid flowers, then just say so, Ruby ― you can have them, damn it." Her sight blurred when she threw the basket on the floor with as much force as she could muster. Blooms shivered and loose leaves floated in the air, tumbling down. A small envelope, artfully inserted between foliage, fell out. Elegant handwriting on the front penned out her name._

_Professional attitude be damned. Emma bit down hard on her bottom lip, willing herself not to break._

_It didn't work._

* * *

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend that cruise line."

Emma looked up from the enticing brochure she was perusing.

"It's just...they had a bit of an illness outbreak on their last voyage. Publicists for the company said it was a flu epidemic, but personally..." Pushing her glasses up her nose, the woman lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think it was poor sanitation in the ship kitchens ― passengers come back with all kinds of nauseating stories."

Great, even the  _travel agent_  was discouraging her from going on a trip. Sighing, Emma slipped the ad back on the rotating case. "Well, if anything...they know advertisement."

"Indeed."

Precisely fifteen minutes later, she was back to being followed around as she twirled other cases and peered at the broad flyers on the walls.

"Are you looking for any destination in particular?"

Growling to herself, she plastered on a broad smile and turned midway. "Just...browsing."

_Finally, some silence._

Then came a few pointed taps on her shoulder.

Emma wanted to stomp her foot out of exasperation. God, a person couldn't just freaking  _shop_  in peace these days, could they―

"Hello ― Emma Swan, right? Do you remember me?"

Dark brown hair, a thick accent, a warm smile, and penetrating blue eyes, searching and curious.  _Of course_  she remembered her. "Belle ― how are you?" she sputtered out, blushing when the girl flung her arms around her in a tight hug. Emma quickly pulled back. "How's...the store? The town? Your father? And the library?"

"Wonderful, just wonderful," Belle exclaimed, grinning broadly at her. "Storybrooke's still its charming old self ― like my father. The shop and the library are both doing well. I, um ― I came here for major restocking of our inventory ― it's a big shipment, and I wanted to be sure everything was in order. What about yourself? How's business?"

"It's...moving along. We just did a project for a big client...but things are back to being slow." She shrugged. "Nothing's really happening, to be honest. Same old routines, day after day."

"Hmm, sounds like you need more adventure in your life."

Oh, that was Belle, always trying to live out her favorite books. "Adventure's for fairy tales and movies, not real life." Emma let out a dry laugh. Even to her ears, it sounded unconvincing and reeked of bitterness. "People like me...we get 'boring, mundane, and plain.' There's no place for 'exciting, romantic, and exotic.' Can't afford it."

The young woman pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed. It was what Emma liked to call her  _contemplative look_ , when she was carefully assessing a situation. "So...if you don't want that, why are you in a travel agency, of all places?"

Her gaze swept over the inviting ads one more time before she headed for the door. It wasn't till she was outside that she heard Belle calling for her.

"Emma ― Emma, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep―"

"No, it's okay." Wiping at her eyes, she waved away her concerns. "Knowing me, I'd be wondering the same thing if I were you."

Belle looked all too sympathetic. Emma faced away from her, trying to steady her breaths.

"Hey...are you really doing okay?" she asked, her voice quiet and calm. "If you'll excuse my saying so, you seem...upset."

"Is it that easy to tell?" she spat back angrily, clasping her arms around herself. "Was it the dark circles under my eyes that gave it away? Or maybe it's my short temper, which I can't seem to keep on a leash these days."

She bit down hard on her lower lip, but the outburst cost her. The next moment, she was sobbing into her hands, aware that they were in public and beyond mortified that she couldn't stop crying. A gentle hand encircled her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. Hey... How about a cup of hot chocolate, and we'll sit down...and talk?"

She could only nod as Belle led her away, into the shelter that was the nearest coffeeshop.

* * *

"It was  _him_. You saw him again, talked to him, and now..."

"Now, it's like..." Emma sniffled loudly. "It's like my entire life is topsy-turvy. I can't sleep, I can't think...I'm constantly seeing his face in my mind, and I can't stop being miserable. I thought confronting him would be the end of it, but..."

"That's why you want to go on vacation."

She sighed deeply. "Exactly. I think a change of place would be good."

"Why?" Belle finished her cappuccino in one last gulp, licking away the remaining foam from her lips with obvious gusto.

"Because..." Emma paused. She had not been asked for the sake of rhetoric. It was a question that needed a serious answer. A  _real_  answer. "Because the last time Killian and I parted, I ended up shifting everything here, to Boston. I was running away from my memories of Storybrooke ― they hurt too much, I was hurting too much, and...I just wanted it all to go away. But I have a life here...a good life, and I'm not sacrificing it."

"But you still feel that urge to run," she answered, setting her mug aside.

"Yeah. I do." Emma ran a hand through her hair. "My co-workers think I'm crazy for wanting to leave now, during peak season...but they don't get it. I  _need_  to get out of here. At least for a month."

Belle leaned back in her seat, scrutinizing her. "You want to travel somewhere in particular, or...?"

"More like a dozen places." She chuckled. "But if and when I do pinpoint a spot, it would need to be within my budget. No matter my childhood dreams, I can't go all  _Around the World in Eighty Days_ here. My savings is only that big."

"Understood."

From the way Belle was fiddling with her napkins, restacking them and aligning the corners, something was up. Just like that, an idea began to form in Emma's mind. "Belle, would you...you wouldn't be interested in partnering up, would you? Because Ruby mentioned not going alone, and knowing how traveling the world was on your to-do-list back then..."

With a wide smile, the girl's entire face beamed at her. "Really? I mean, I'd love to ― but Emma, you  _are_  serious? Travel together?"

For the first time in weeks, Emma felt her insides lighten. "Yeah ― let's do it." Her own lips curved upward ― Belle's optimism was contagious. "What does your schedule look like for the next few months?"

* * *

It had been  _incredible_.

She couldn't have asked for a better traveling companion than Belle ― that woman knew geography and history like the back of her hand, and it was an understatement that her stories and knowledge made the trip interesting.

Thanks to her, they visited places Emma would never have noticed on a map, let alone her itinerary. Not to mention that Belle spoke several languages fluently and that skill in itself opened many doors closed to foreigners. They got to see things that she'd never imagined she'd see. Not just art and artifacts and the local cuisine. There were landscapes, the wide countryside ― and the people. Because of choice hostels and small bed-and-breakfast inns, it was possible to really see the way the natives lived, in homes and cities that were over-glamorized by the rest of the world.

Three months of backpacking across Europe wasn't long enough, in her opinion. No disruptions, no interaction with the small world she'd left behind. Just endless escape from everything she knew, to explore the unknown.

Unfortunately, they had had to part ways at the airport in London during their return flight. Belle needed to go home and get back to the toy shop, while she wanted to spend a few weeks exploring New York City before returning to Boston. She'd heard so many stories about the Big Apple and its promotion of the arts ― why not use this chance to see it for herself?

Settling into the squishy plush chair that could only be courtesy of economy class seating, Emma plugged in her earphones while searching her handbag for her smartphone.  _Damn it to hell, it was messy in there, and she'd been meaning to clean it forever―_ Quitting on ceremony, she just dumped the contents of the purse into her lap and began to rummage, ignoring her nearest seatmate. First class sounded so tempting, but enough money had already been spent on expenses and she just couldn't afford an extra luxury when the flight was only a few hours. She'd survive wailing babies, grumpy fellow passengers, and the occasional tired stewardess.

_Speaking of which, the flight attendant had just announced that it was okay to go off airplane mode for all wireless devices._

In went her makeup pouch, her passport ( _couldn't lose that_ ), her wallet ( _no more wearing either under her bra, thank god_ ), her toilette case ― and...a packet of letters?

_A small envelope, heavy and bursting at its paper seams, falling to the floor amid flower petals._

The bouquet, from Killian.

The accompanying note she'd ignored, too busy crying over her desk while she barely got words out to Ruby, who single-handedly tried to piece together the story of her friend's broken romance from mumbled words and jagged phrases and incomplete sentences. It had gotten lost in her purse, which had been barely used during her travels and stuffed into the recesses of her suitcase.

After she was sure nothing had fallen onto the floor or become lost, her fingers paused in front of the ribbon, binding the small pile of folded papers together. It was red and thin and fragile, a perfect example of what her heart was ― and of how untied and dismantled it would be once she read the words her first love had sent her.

She didn't have to, of course. She could just slip them back into her bag and discard it all at the first trashbin she encountered at the airport. It would save her a lot of pain, tears, and residual depression.

She could just throw it all away.

_She could. And no one would know._

With a groan, she finally unearthed her delinquent phone and turned it on, desperate for distraction. Using the airline's free wifi, she found a host of funny emails from Graham, who said he was delighted by the abundance of postcards she had sent him from her trip. His latest message wished her a safe voyage home ― and at the bottom, was a promise to take her out on a proper dinner date, as soon as she'd settled in again. Then there was Ruby, vowing an extended road trip to Vegas the very  _minute_  she got time off.

The letters continued to taunt her when she checked on work correspondence, on the weather, on news headlines ― on anything but the enticing cursive scroll of her name, etched by a familiar hand on beautiful, hand-pressed paper. The deep sepia ink, simple but elegant. The way he had even tied the bow. Killian had always had a thing for well-arranged bows and knots ― especially when it came to his neckties ― and his handwriting was impeccable, ingrained by years of practice at school when he was a boy.

Sighing, Emma put her phone to sleep and slipped it back into her purse.

_It was goddamn inevitable, wasn't it?_

She was going to bleed again. For him. Her heart couldn't deny its longing to hear his voice and see his face through his words. Writing was safe, where all emotions were hidden beneath the surface. His gaze couldn't provoke her, his lips couldn't tempt her.

Yes, it would hurt like hell.  _God, would it hurt._  But it was like his hand was reaching out to her ― beckoning, asking,  _pleading_.

If she believed that she had forgiven him, then she couldn't be afraid to take it ― to take that chance.

She wouldn't be afraid to read his letters.

_She wasn't afraid._

_No more fear._ _Not anymore._

_If there was to be pain..._

_Let it come._

* * *

Killian did  _not_  like using the metro. Even the double decker buses in London, from what he remembered, were less turbulent. The metro was an accident waiting to happen, whether it be theft, railway incidents, faulty doors or fainting from foul odor attacks. And when you emerged from your cramped  _bloody hell_  of a ride, the air outside stank from the sewers and reeked of gasoline filtering down from the vehicles storming overhead.

In short, he despised his work route every morning and every evening. But it was a necessary evil. For as long as his business trip was scheduled to last in New York, he needed the convenience of the subway. Taxis were another evil he couldn't stand.

Every time, it was the same: he'd clamber on board and settle for a less crowded corner of the train. He never sat down ― he always stood, clinging to the support strap hanging from the rails while his other hand gripped the handles of his briefcase. Then he would face the windows, staring at the dirty walls that flew by when the train started to speed up. He never looked at the crowd of people chattering around him. He never began a conversation with some nameless stranger. For all of the ten minutes his ride took, he barely moved, eyes fixed on a meaningless point that didn't exist.

That was his bloody life, more or less.  _Meaningless_.

All those months ago, saying good-bye to  _her_... Well, it wasn't really much of a good-bye, was it? When she was constantly in his thoughts and he couldn't get their last conversation out of his head. After Smee came back and told him of his reception at her office, Killian knew she wanted nothing to do with him.

And why would she? All he could do was plead insanity. Plead his love for her on his knees and beg at her feet for a chance to prove himself again.

But she didn't want that, and she didn't want him.

He was the one who couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that they were over. Forever.

The intercom buzzed to life with boarding announcements. Getting off at his stop, he trudged up the concrete stairs, down the street, until he reached his apartment complex. Traffic was loud and crazy at this hour, so he made sure to get in as fast as he could. Unlocking the door, he slipped inside his apartment. Bloody hell, he was tired. He didn't trust elevators, so having a flat at the top of the building meant five floors of stairs to climb ― every fucking morning and night.

Seeing the familiar space, changed by what he made of it, was the only thing that made him smile these days. Aye, perhaps all the shit he put up with was worth it, in exchange for a penthouse like this. The view was rather depressing, only offering glittering skyscrapers and city lights, but the design of the place was lovely. He had saved his money for years and this was the definition of a good investment.

Turning on the radio, Killian put together some supper and took a seat by the counter, sipping on his beer bottle. He chewed absently on his pasta, half-listening to the news headlines and ignoring the songs playing. When "Even Now" came on ― the station had a predilection for all things Barry Manilow and played a great variety of his music ― he pulled a glass from the cupboard and began to pour out a bottle of rum. Not too much, but not too little, either. He couldn't afford to be drunk for work tomorrow.

Kicking off his shoes and loosening his tie, he settled into the soft couch and lay back, drink in hand. The song's mournful tone and sense of longing, so in sync with his own, reached out to him and made the taste of alcohol that much sweeter.  _Manilow was perfectly in tune with bloody heartbreak._

This was his life. Leave and come home to an empty apartment, full of useless things, and drink himself to sleep. People encouraged him to date, to go out. Some of his colleagues invited him to visit their weekly haunts and favorites bars. He didn't do either. So he was asked, in a hundred different ways, what it was that he was looking for, besides profit and the usual ambitions.

He wasn't about to explain to them the depth of his feelings for Emma and how no woman on this earth could ever replace her in his heart. That without her, there wasn't any purpose. If he had to be a bachelor for the rest of his life, then so be it.

Running a hand through his hair, then over his face, Killian mulled over visions of his sweetheart.

_Ah, there was her lovely smile. That smile she saved just for him, in the early morning hours when it was time to go to class and neither of them wanted to move. Emma would try to keep him in bed, kissing him senseless and then provoking the need for other activities._

_It made him laugh, to see the faces she would make when it was quite obvious he had to go, despite his desires otherwise._

_Then in the evenings, when there was nowhere either of them needed to go..._

_Bloody hell, it seemed they were always making love to each other back then. This frantic need, to show each other that care and devotion lost during their childhoods..._

_"Killian," she'd whisper in his ear during her release, "I love you so damn much."_

_He would hold on to that, even in his dreams. Her confessions of love drove the darkness away and chased out nightmares._

_Even now, he could smell her hair, see those sparkling green eyes win him over. His heart was truly blind, to seek someone who wasn't there. His lips, pining for the the sweet caress of hers._

To hell with new companionship.

If anything, he would always have the goddamn rum.

* * *

_Dearest Emma,_

_I want you to have these. I admit I was a coward, not contacting you all those years, but...well, my fears were greater than my love for you, and for that I am truly sorry. Enclosed are the attempts I made, during all my voyages, to reach out to you, even though I never intended to send them._

_I should have. But I wonder if you would have even opened them ― or you would have just tossed them as soon as you saw they were from me._

_No matter. If anything, it will comfort you to know that our separation wasn't one-sided. I do not wish to cause you more pain, however, so if anything I write feels offensive or repulsive, please feel free to destroy those words._

_After all, they are only words. Nothing can fix what I did._

_But of one thing I need you to be sure: Emma Swan, you are the only woman I have ever loved._

_Not a day will go by that I won't think of you, and of us._

_Yours always,_

_Killian Jones_


	7. Part VII

It had to be a coincidence.

That she had happened to be there in that tiny coffee shop at the corner.

That she was even able to recognize the faint opening strains of "Moon River" over all the damn noise from the screeching traffic and busy crowds.

That the music across the street, the low hum of an old accordion, was serenading her away from a quick, boring breakfast.

Despite its notoriety, the 843 acres of Central Park had never been on Emma's list of landmarks to visit within New York City. She had heard too many crime stories, too many love stories ― too many  _stories_ , period. Call her biased, but she wasn't jumping up and down to walk through all that greenery on her own. It felt too...exposed. Too lonely. She would see something breathtaking, but have no one to share it with. She would see couples walking together, no doubt on a date, and wonder why she was there alone.

Hell, she knew the answers to both questions.

Which was why she wasn't going within ten feet of the expansive  _oasis_ , as the locals called it.

The music, however... It was like the Pied Piper in that poem by Robert Browning, where the children of the town were whisked away by the most enchanting tune, unable to escape the influence of the pipe the elusive man played. And she did feel like she was under some spell, bewitched despite herself. That song wasn't even her favorite.

_The last anniversary they celebrated together._

_He had hummed into her ear, waltzing her about the restaurant as if they were the only couple there, ignoring the typical classical piece whining from the overhead speakers._

_Oh, she remembered, alright. Holly Golightly, with her need to reinvent herself by living a glamorous and unattached routine, never letting herself get close to anything or anyone. Audrey Hepburn's bright smile to make the character unforgettable. Emma had bugged Killian for months about the cat scenes in the film. She knew he had loved them ― and that goddamn song. He loved old movies, old music, and archaic vocabulary._

Sipping on her coffee and half-cold bagel while walking was a torturous task. Her sneakers crunched over half-dead leaves and the debris littering the pavement, while the wind whistled through the trees, creating a new rhythm to lift the melody of the accordion. The arching branches, entwined from decades of growth, were an entrance to the tunnel of expectations she had for what was waiting on the other side, calling her. In the daylight, the shadows were not that eerie, not when the sun was streaming through to make her feel welcome and safe.

Maybe this was a good spell, the kind that promised rewards. It was silly, that she was so afraid of something she  _might_  see...but faith was the hardest of all for her. Emma Swan took belief and chances too seriously to go out on a whim.

At least, now she did. There was a time she would have been braver, even in small things.

The grass was definitely greener the deeper she withdrew into the woods, and she had to look back several times to make sure she wasn't getting lost. The cars passing by like a whirlwind marked the street from which she had come, so she had the courage to cross the wooden bridge and continue onward.

Eventually, after a lifetime later, her ears led her to a small landscaped plaza, where a young woman stood.

She was singing while she played, swaying from side to side in time with the song. The words had been too far away to catch from the distance, but now a sweet, strong voice spun the sad tune with perfect notes. All seemed frozen in time. Birds weren't chirping. Passersby were standing still. It was haunting, that the world had become silent in this small corner because of her power over music.

It wasn't just her performance ― even her appearance was in harmony: dark skin, white smile, luminous eyes, flawless voice. No wonder every person present was gawking, open-mouthed and breathless.

All except one.

Emma stumbled back into the shade.

No,  _he_  couldn't be here. This couldn't be happening  _again_ , where fate intervened and threw them together in the same space and time just for the heck of it.

It had to be a joke, a misunderstanding. It couldn't be real.

But the anguish in his eyes, etched into the lines of his face, was real. What were the odds that their paths would cross in New York City, of all places?

She watched as he tossed some twenty-dollar bills into the open accordion case.

 _Tokens of appreciation for the performance_ , she overheard him whisper to the girl.  _For a few moments, you made me forget my pain._

They exchanged soft smiles, and then other listeners came forward to make their acquaintance with the young musician. Ursula, was what they called her.

Killian stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. She should take advantage of his momentary distraction and leave ― but she can't stop looking at him. After all this time, and all they've said to each other...

She  _has_  missed him, more than words or thoughts can say. That was why her heart was hammering in her chest, threatening to leap out and announce her presence.

He looked up suddenly, and his eyes met hers. She was caught, unable to move or speak or do anything, except stare back.

Emma choked on air, staggering backwards until she was out of the park and back in the safety of her hotel room. Her lonely, empty hotel room, where there was no Killian Jones to be seen.

Only later, in the middle of night, after restless dreams, she wondered if perhaps she made a mistake in running away.

* * *

Killian tugged at the knot of the tie around his neck. It felt too tight, but no matter how much he pulled it down, it remained a noose, strangling him. He was so occupied with the damn thing that he missed the elevator doors opening.

A hand prevented them from closing, allowing Killian to squeeze through just in time. "Saved a spot for you, Jones."

Robin Locksley's cheeky grin shined out at him. Ex-detective and ex-playboy, the golden bloke of the high-status industrial company on the top floor always  _had_  to have the last word in their conversations, didn't he?

Muttering his thanks, Killian slid inside, taking a stand as far away from the man as possible.

"Ground floor, right?" Pushing the button without looking at it, Robin relaxed against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. His briefcase was right by his feet. "So, what chaos is lurking in your life these days?"

Cracking his neck, he rolled his eyes. "Too many damn files to look over. I'm an artist, not a bloody errand boy."

"Don't I know it." Robin narrowed his eyes. "It's been a while since we spoke. I'd have thought there would be someone waiting for you at home by now, to ease the burdens from your shoulders."

"Not these shoulders, mate," Killian snorted. "Rum is my remedy."

"Ah yes. I'd forgotten. You're the fellow who can't let go of his first love."

 _How the bloody hell?_  "I don't recall telling you that," he said coldly.

Robin chuckled. "Now don't get on your high horse, Jones ― to be fair, it was after a long night at the bar and a lot of shots later that you confided in me how much you're pining for her."

Killian clenched his jaw, snapping, "Bugger off, Locksley. We're not friends."

"Friends ― such a defining term." He shook his head. "I know you, you know me. If it makes you feel better, we're ' _business acquaintances_ '."

The elevator creaked as it swung to a halt, wrestling with momentum. Killian's grip on the railing tightened.

"What's stopping you? From going after her?" Cocking his head, Robin leaned down to pick up his briefcase. "Is she married?"

He stared at the metal doors as they slid open. "No."

"That's not a full answer."

"Aye, and I don't have to give you one. My relationships are none of your bloody affair."

"So hostile," Robin chuckled, striding out first onto the ground floor with confidence. "I'm just trying to help you out ― after the kerfuffle between myself and Marian, then Regina, I wish the best for you. No one deserves to have it hard in love."

He snapped back, "Says the man who went out with another behind his then-wife's back, broke both their hearts, and dragged his toddler son into a divorce."

Killian just wanted the man to shut the hell up and stop reminding him about Emma. Seeing his lass in that park was akin to seeing a ghost ― a beautiful, vibrant ghost who gave his world a flash of color before taking all his hopes away with her. The speed of her escape from their meeting only further emphasized that she was done with him. He was such a daft git for continuing to keep her in his heart and refusing to let go of her.

Or perhaps it really had been a dream conjured up by a fevered imagination, desperately craving the one person he could never have in his arms again. If the letters had not convinced her of his fidelity to her, what would? She could never trust him again.

"No need to rub my mistakes in my face." Scowling, Locksley visibly bristled. "No wonder you're alone, Jones ― with that attitude, you'd poison any conversation. For Christ's sake, I'm trying to be friendly here!"

"I don't need friends. I can't have friends." It was with great effort that he kept his voice from breaking.  _Emma, Emma, Emma._  He had been such an arse for measuring up the two loves of his life, for pushing her away. There was no way to earn forgiveness for that, and he bloody knew it. Why did he keep  _torturing_  himself by believing his love for her couldn't die?

The glass doors led to freedom, the end of the line. They meant Robin could no longer harass him. Killian barreled through them and ushered himself out, annoyed when his elevator companion followed suit but didn't leave his side. Persistent bastard, this fellow.

"Look..." He grimaced, then tucked a hand inside his suit pocket. He pulled out a pen and quickly scribbled with it on a small piece of rectangular paper. "Here's my card. My home phone's now on it as well. Roland and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime, if you're so inclined, and Regina's up visiting from Boston. Take it as an open invitation. No pressure, eh?"

For a minute, Killian eyed it warily and with suspicion. But Locksley's gaze appeared to be frank and welcoming, void of any kind of malice. This was a genuine invitation to the man's home, to spend time with  _his_  family, and he claimed to have no scruples about it, even after all those scathing remarks.

"Thanks, mate." His voice faltered, but he tried to smile. "I...I appreciate the gesture. Really, I do. I apologize for my...asinine behavior."

Robin's easy grin returned. "No need for gratitude. Give us a call anytime and we'll set the table for one more. Or two, if you ever find your girl. Oh, and do me a favor? Keep that smirk on your face, Jones ― it becomes you more than that cloud of gloom and doom hanging over your head." Before Killian could reply, the rascal gave him a hearty wave before turning around and running off to the nearest subway entrance.

Laughing despite himself, Killian stuffed the card into the pocket of his pants and trudged in the opposite direction. Hopefully, Ursula would have time for her afternoon concert today. God only knew he needed the distraction.

Otherwise, he'd go mad from want for the blonde lass surely wandering this city, same as he. Bloody mighty forbearance was the sole thing keeping him from dialing every hotel to seek her out.

Robin's inquiries had intensified that need.

Groaning, Killian whipped out his smartphone.

" _Hi again,"_  he texted, _"would tonight be too soon to cash in that invite to dinner?"_

* * *

Until this moment, Emma had never understood what books meant by "her heart fluttered."

Damn it, her heart  _was_  fluttering, like a butterfly let loose after long captivity, and she didn't know how to stop it.

Peeking around the tree trunk, she let out a sigh of relief while her stomach twisted uneasily. God, Killian's failure to appear for the girl's performance wasn't the end of the world. In fact, it was a good thing, right? This way, she could avoid seeing him altogether.

The wind blew her curls into her face, as if to scold her.

"Hey, I tried, okay?" she muttered to herself. "I made an effort. He's not here, and it's not like I can seek him out in a city of nine million people."

The breeze was now a gust that pushed strands of hair into her mouth.

"Okay, so there's the phonebook, and the Internet, and...damn it, I'm really trying here!" She glared up at the sky.

As if heaven sent, her phone rang, chirping at her.

"Ah, the elusive Miss Swan." Graham's soft drawl warmed her ears. "How lovely to finally get ahold of you."

Emma grinned. "Nice to hear from you too, Deputy. Not busy on the job, catching criminals?"

"Not at the moment. And speaking of which..." It sounded like he was twirling in his chair. "This chap has some catching up to do with a really special lady. I begged for some much-needed leave and my boss relented, seeing as she wanted to take off herself. So I find myself wondering..."

"Yeah?" She rubbed a curl between her fingers, curious where this inquiry was leading.

His voice was husky when he murmured, "Maybe I should buy myself the first plane ticket out of here and join you in your adventures."

Ursula was getting her accordion out, but there was still no Killian to be seen. It was plain to see he was not coming at all.

Why the hell was her gut twisting and churning at the thought of that?

"Emma?"

"Sorry, Graham," she bit down on her lip. "I...I actually need your advice on something."

He chuckled. "Ask away."

"Killian is...here. In New York. We saw each other. I mean, we didn't talk, but we...met. It was an accident. And I...I don't know what to do," she finished, desperate for a bench to sit down on so she could keep herself together.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a minute. Then Graham cleared his throat. "I thought you told me everything was over between you and him."

"It is," she protested. "But this ― this is like a  _sign_. Things didn't end that well when we parted and... Oh God, I don't know what to do," she moaned. One thing was for sure: repeating herself was definitely a bad sign. It meant a lot of self-doubt she couldn't solve.

"Do you still...have feelings for him?"

His withdrawn tone bothered her. "He was my best friend for three-quarters of my life, Graham ― of course I still care about him," she snapped, chewing on her nails.

He let out a deep sigh that reverberated against the speaker. "I mean, are you in love with him? Because I won't come between you guys, Emma. Just tell me the truth―"

"Whoa." She waved her hands in the air as if to stop his fears, only to realize that he couldn't see her crazy hand gestures. "You're jumping to conclusions too fast. I simply don't want to pass up an opportunity to get regrets out of the way. I can forget all about this and go on with my life, yes. Or I can talk to him, if I can find him again, and put things into perspective."

The letters came to mind. The soft-spoken words, the angry phrases, the hungry tone, the pleading excuses. He had given her his travel diary, basically ― everything Killian had felt after leaving her was recorded on those damn pieces of paper. There was no denying that his love had lived on in that print and scrawl of his pen. She had stayed up all night long in her room to re-read the lengthy epistles, as if the collection was some thrilling mystery and not the answer to every question she had ever longed to ask him. His life without her was etched into those pages. The worst part was that none was a lie. He meant each word. The need to see him again was hard to explain and even harder to understand.

"To me, it seems you've already made your choice," he replied dryly. "I can't sway you from your decision, can I?"

The irritation and jealousy in his voice was like a rush of cold water on her senses. Emma snapped back to the present. "Graham..." She only hoped she knew what she was doing. He was right, wasn't he? Her heart wanted this too much to let it pass by. "I can't apologize enough. You're such a great guy, and I'm lucky to have met you. You helped me more than you can imagine. I want to be friends despite this, but I hope you understand that...I'm not ready to date you."

"Hmmm. I will say I'm disappointed." She could almost see him smile sadly, trying to maintain his composure. "You're an amazing woman, Emma Swan ― utterly, truly amazing. Of course I want to stay friends with you. The chance to be more for you was incredible, but listen up..." His voice became firm and unrelenting. "I want you to be happy more than anything else. I do care about you. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in you, but like I said before, you deserve the fulfillment of your dreams. If you want this, go for it. We can figure out us after you come home." He paused. "Just be careful. I don't want him to break your heart again."

"I will, thank you," she whispered. An idea had popped into her head, clear and simple as could be. "Can I see you when I get back to Boston?"

"You bet. I'll be here waiting for you, with Ruby. We've missed you. Take care, and good luck."

The dial tone chiming, she slipped her phone back into her purse and pulled out a notepad. Hurriedly scribbling on it, she ripped the note off and waited until Ursula had a break between songs.

"Hi..." What if this girl thought she was mad and didn't want anything to do with this? "My name's Emma Swan. There's this guy...dark-haired, blue eyes...who comes and listens to you. I know this is a long shot, but would it be asking too much if you could give this to him, if he comes by?" She held out the paper to her.

As expected, Ursula eyed her suspiciously. "And just why would I do that?"

"I'm an old friend. I'm staying here for a few weeks and I'd like to see him. I have no idea where he works or lives here, so I thought this was a way to reach him." Emma pulled out some bills and offered them to her. "You play very beautifully ― it's what brought me here and how I found him."

Raising both brows, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't want your money. If you're a friend of his, why are you asking me to contact him for you?"

Emma breathed hard through her nose. "Look, it's hardly any of your business, but...he broke my heart, a long time ago. And then I broke his. We've hurt each other so much...and we're still hurting. Please help, for his sake. He's in pain, like I am ― I know you can see that, when he comes."

Shrugging, Ursula extended her hand. "I can't make any promises, but okay, I'll try. You just want me to give him this, right?"

"Yes." She gulped. "It's my hotel address and phone number."

* * *

"You came." Emma took another tentative sip of her coffee, thanking providence for the nearly empty café. "I almost thought you wouldn't."

"Apologies, love. The bloody metro took forever ― such a hideous method of travel."

Killian, dressed to impress in his impeccable black business suit, plopped down in the comfy chair right across from hers, placing his leather briefcase on the floor. She glanced at him. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked so tired, rubbing at his temples with both hands.

"I'm glad you got my message. Ursula came through after all." She tried to smile.

Eyes closed, he replied, "How could I have resisted? The woman practically forced me to take your note."

She laughed at that, then stopped short. This wasn't funny. None of this was funny. In the old days, when they were younger, she would have climbed into his lap and combed his hair back with her fingers, to chase his worries away.

Now, all she could do was stare at him and hope he'd cheer up. "I bought you coffee, if that's okay." She nodded at the waiting cup on the small table by the chairs.

"Bloody hell, do I need it ― thanks." He took a gulp quickly and sputtered, "Damn it, it's hot."

Emma covered her chuckles and her forming grin with her hand. "You always did jump too quickly into things, Jones."

"And you were always there to steady me, my personal anchor," he countered, half-smiling.

The depth of what he had just said sobered her humor. "I guess." She put her coffee cup aside. "I guess I should get to the point, right? Why I asked you to call me?"

Threading his fingers together, he cocked his head. "Oh? And there has to be a specific reason?" He swallowed hard. "I could bloody sit here and look at you all day long, say nothing at all."

"Killian..." she pleaded.

"You've been honest with me, Emma." He grimaced. "So let me be honest with you. You're still my friend and no one has ever come close to meaning as much to me as you do."

"Liam did," she spat out, instantly regretting it when anguish spread across his face. It was a cruel, low blow, when all he had ever did was love both of them.

"Liam was my family, aye. But you were ― are ― too. I will always care for you." He took a shuddering breath. "I swear I came here only to see you, not to bring up old wounds of the past. How many times can I say I'm sorry? I can't change what I've done, and you won't let me forget it."

Her heart clenched. What the hell was she doing? How many times had she said she'd forgiven him as well? Was she that much of a hypocrite? "I wanted to thank you for the letters, actually. They were very illuminating."

"I can't tell if that's meant to be a compliment or an insult, love."

"God, enough with the sarcasm!" She was suddenly fuming inside. "I don't know if you're busy or if you've got plans, but I'm here for a few weeks. Can't I just get to know you again?"

He raised one eyebrow. "Is that truly what you want? I recall your telling me you wanted us to part for good."

"Well, I don't," she growled. "I saw you in that goddamn park, and I just..." Her feelings imploded and her self-control snapped. "Damn it, Killian. We have wasted years of our lives, not confronting each other, not talking to each other. We've missed out on years of friendship. On everything. I'm so fucking tired of pretending to myself that you don't matter to me." She managed to choke out, "You always have. And I think you always will."

His gaze softened. Hesitantly, his hand reached for hers, enfolding it in the warmth of his palm. "I was hoping you would say that." He swallowed. "I can't stop thinking about you, Emma. I thought I'd come here and you'd only dismiss me again. I was such a coward. I should have run after you, but I thought you didn't want to see me. You've no idea how bloody glad I am that you found me. I'm here on business, but I haven't been told for how long yet."

She too leaned forward, until their knees were almost touching. A sudden need to kiss him overwhelmed her, but she pushed it as far away from her mind as possible. They were friends ―  _just_  friends. Staring into his eyes, she saw herself reflected in them. It made her wonder how he saw her. Could you ever be certain of your own feelings, let alone another person's?

"When can I see you?" she whispered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He smiled. "I work every day, but I'm free in the evenings and on the weekends. Anytime then."

She grinned back. "Speaking of which...could you take me on a tour of Central Park this Saturday?"

That look in his eyes, attentive and more than a little mischievous, suggested he was more than pleased with the idea.


	8. Part VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much love and thanks to **thatsmuchbetter** , who has motivated and inspired me to give this story the ending it deserves.

A sundress. She was wearing a sundress, and a stunning one at that.

Hair down instead of pinned up, Emma toyed with the loose curls tickling her bare shoulders, purse in one hand and sunglasses in the other. The figure and clothes of a hopeful young girl were outlined before him, from the simple flats on her feet to the colorful dress on her body. Only her face showed how she had aged, firm gaze and unyielding expression drawing attention to the hardened woman underneath.

Killian felt inadequate in comparison: he was wearing the simplest slacks and shirt in his closet, not wanting to overdress for such an outing. And here she was, looking like a lovely sunflower. He wanted to slap himself for being such a git.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he forced out a smile and said, "Hello, Swan."

The breeze gusted at that precise moment, blowing her locks forward to outline the line of her jaw and her cheeks. Her billowing, short skirt attracted attention to her legs ― those beautiful limbs he had showered with kisses so many times in the past ― despite the black leggings hiding her bare skin from sight.

Their  _shared_  past.

"Hey." She toed the ground with the tip of her shoe. He bit back a smile, recognizing that habit of hers. Her nervous state was rather endearing. "I actually had a hard time finding this spot. Want to finally tell me what we're doing today?"

He hefted up the picnic basket in demonstration. "Well, love," he cleared his throat, "we are going to have lunch, handcrafted by yours truly."

She frowned, peering about. "Then why are we at the docks?"

Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. "I..." he started uncertainly, "rented a boat."

Her eyebrows rose up in surprise. "A boat? You want to go sailing?"

He stood aside so she could see the vessel he had commandeered, gesturing at the rowboat's solid lines and wooden oars. "Aye, and isn't she a fine lass?"

Shaking her head, she bit down on her lip. "Will I have to wear one of those ugly life-vests?"

"It's required," he said apologetically, handing her one. "If you prefer, we can walk to the spot I have in mind..."

"No, no." She slipped the vest on easily, adjusting the straps. "It's no big deal."

He swiftly donned his own, making a face at how dirty it was. Couldn't they at least wash the damn things from time to time?

"Worrying about germs already?" she teased, nudging him with her shoulder. He gave her a puzzled frown, to which she replied, "Killian, you look like you've swallowed a bug. Don't tell me you're not thinking about that."

"Swan, you know me so well," he grinned. "Aye, I'm thinking about how many times I'm going to curse the boat rental company if I catch the flu from this unseemly vest and lose precious days at work."

Laughing, she lightly pushed him toward the boat. "Just get aboard, sailor."

"I think the correct phrase is  _step_  aboard, love."

"Uh-huh." She handed him the basket first after he had attained a sure footing on the wooden hull. Then she froze, her line of sight switching between her shoes and the far jump to the bottom of the boat.

"Give me your hand." He extended his own in response to her wide-eyed confusion. "I'll help you in."

She just stared at his outstretched palm and flexing fingers. He felt his ribcage clench. Their hands had touched before. Was the idea of being close to him again repulsive?

He barely had time to hear her whispered "okay" before she slipped her hand into his and analyzed how best to enter into the small vessel without falling into the water.

The next few minutes of intense scrutiny got on his nerves. She didn't need to be frightened of him. Out of instinct, he leaned forward and wrapped his other arm around her waist, lifting her up. She gasped in surprise. Careful not to drop her, he gently lowered her until her feet hit wood and she was standing next to him.

And he found he was quite unwilling to let go of her, pressed up against the lines of his body.

Instead of swatting at him like he expected her to, she was gazing back at him, with parted lips and short breath, her hair now a tumble of intertwined, wavy curls.

They were caught up in this moment together, neither wanting to leave it.

It was she who finally broke the silence. "We probably should, ahem, sit down, or the boat might tip over." She chuckled weakly. "And we wouldn't want that."

"No," he whispered, hardly aware of what he was saying, inhaling the scent of her perfume, "we wouldn't want that at all."

A hundred scenarios entered his mind, of which the most appealing was scooping her into his arms and loving her madly until his heart shattered from overuse.

Always the level-headed one in any situation, Emma let go of him first. Tucking golden strands behind her ears, ducking her head, she slowly sat down on the bench by the prow. "I'm not much of a rower ― I don't know how ― so if you were expecting me to―"

Shaking his head, he took the other seat and undid the knot that moored the boat to the docks. "Not at all, love. I've done my fair share of rowing. I can handle this."

* * *

The sun was bathing their heads in warmth, its light dancing off the lake's small waves. He was thankful for the dark lenses in his sunglasses; it wasn't a courtesy he was used to when he was in the Navy. Migraines were a frequent occurrence then, only wearing that damn hat while on duty.

Which was how, when passing a vendor on the street this morning, he had obtained the angular purchase concealed in the lunch basket.

His arms ached at first from pulling the oars in and then turning them rhythmically to get the boat out of the imitation harbor. Emma seemed apprehensive at first, but soon she became fascinated with the smooth movements and turns that were taking them to the center of the lake.

In fact, she was looking down at her lap and over the edge of the boat more than at him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Such a brave attempt to assess what she was thinking right now, when all he needed to do was bloody ask her.

"Hmm." She was eyeing the shoreline. "It's so quiet out here ― so different from the loud, busy traffic and streets beyond the park. So empty."

Despite its being the weekend, the lake was rather bereft of voyagers. Killian himself found this to be a welcome coincidence, hoping there would be no distractions for either of them. They would be able to focus on each other.

Instead, Emma was lost in her thoughts, not paying any attention to him.

Clearing his throat, he nodded at the basket. "There is, ahem, something in there. For you."

"For me?" She smiled sadly, shaking her head as she lifted the wicker top and pulled out a narrow item wrapped in brown parchment. "Killian, what is this?"

"Open it and see, love."

Untying the strings, she withdrew a short parasol from the paper. Unfurled, it was a deep red hue, dotted with white flowers. Tipped above her head, light streaming through its translucent material, the umbrella colored her face and shoulders with a soft shade of pink.

She'd always said red was her favorite color. He loved it because it reminded him of her.

"It's beautiful." She twirled it, chuckling as the pattern of flowers shifted. "You always think ahead. Thank you for this."

Waving off her gratitude, he leaned back on the oars and let the boat sit in the water. "Better to be prepared than empty-handed."

All of his recollections were muted as he watched her breathe in the sight of the lake and the park beyond. "You said you went on a trip, aye?"

"Yeah, it was wonderful." She ducked her head, shy again. "Though it must be nothing in comparison to yours. You pretty much saw the whole world while you were in the Navy."

"Hmm, not quite." He had wanted to look at the vision in front of him instead, every day of his life. "It was still work, not a postcard-perfect vacation, lass. But did you enjoy your sojourn?" he persisted.

"It was really great, actually." There was now more enthusiasm in her voice. "I haven't been so much on the move all the time since my days as a bail bondsperson."

Killian almost choked on air. "You were a bounty hunter? Catching criminals and turning them in for money?"

"Well, I had to get some job to pay my way through college. The sale of the shop went into my savings account, and scholarships only got me so far."

Guilt boiled at the bottom of his stomach, and he hung his head. That was all his fault. He was supposed to help her, to be with her each step of the way. But he left her alone, to deal with perverts and the like so she could survive.  _Bloody hell_. "I'm sorry, Emma. Truly."

She shrugged. "It was what it was. Tell me about you. What's changed since we last talked in Boston?"

Swallowing hard, he shoved his regrets away and put a smile on his face. "There's this fellow named Robin, he works in the same building as I do. He invited me to dinner with his son and his fiancée, Regina―"

"Regina? Regina Mills?"

"Aye. Do you know her?"

She chuckled. "I heard about her from a...friend. But no, I've never met her. Were they nice? Was dinner nice?"

"It was. Roland got me to watch old Westerns with him. He's only five but loves horses to no end." He rubbed at the ring on his finger, the signet that had belonged to Liam. "They treated me like family, even though they just met me."

Her expression was blank. He was about to pick up the oars again when she tugged what appeared to be a small, thick, square photo album from her purse. "I'm not the greatest writer, so I made a travel journal with pictures instead," she murmured, handing it to him.

His breath caught in his throat. There were photos of landscapes, buildings, cities...but the best part was Emma grinning at the camera, pretending to pose in one shot and then laughing in the next. That was the lass he remembered, living every day to the fullest. Luminescent and unreserved, she looked so goddamn  _happy_  that his heart tore at the thought of her being unhappy, for so many years. Because of him and his betrayal.

"I want you to keep it."

He wet his dry lips. "Why?"

She cocked her head at him. "So you'll have something to remember me by."

"Won't Graham disapprove?" he excused, his pulse crashing against his ears as he waited for her answer.

Emma exhaled deeply before saying, "Killian, I didn't go with Graham. I went with a friend, a  _girl friend_. There really isn't any Graham and I. We aren't together."

"If I caused any―"

"You didn't." She glanced down. "I did. I'm not ready, but he's okay with that. He understands."

Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that perhaps the bastard wasn't that bad after all. "Sounds like he deserves you."

"Maybe." She pursed her lips. "But that really isn't relevant right now."

Nodding, he clutched at the album until his knuckles turned white. He wanted so badly to know why she believed that, why she had decided to take a chance on him now. But he was afraid to learn the answers to these questions, so he didn't ask.

As if shaking off bad memories, she brightened. "Tired?"

He glanced at the oars. "A little." His shoulders would be sore for days.

"Can I try?"

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I thought you said you didn't want to, that you couldn't handle it."

"Perhaps you can't handle it ― oh, come on, you can teach me. It's no fun just sitting here." She closed the parasol and then scooted over to his side, chuckling when the boat rocked to and fro from her transfer to the bow. When he used the album in his hands as a defense, she easily slipped it into the picnic basket.

Stretching her arms, she gave him an inquiring look of her own. "Killian?"

He just sat there and gaped at her, unable to fathom that she was asking him to touch her, that his hands would smooth over her arms while he showed her how to use the oars correctly and row the boat.

He got into position. When he took her hands in his, she didn't flinch. On the contrary, she looked excited and eager.

Slowly regaining his composure, he felt a grin stretch his lips and free his inhibitions. "Looks like we'll make a sailor of you yet, Swan."

* * *

If someone had told Emma years ago that she would be lying on her back, staring up at the entangled treetops of Central Park ― all while in the company of her first love, as if they were on a  _date_  ― she would have laughed at them outright. Then she would have told the idiot to go to hell.

Blinking, she lifted her arm, trying to trace the origins of the branches with her fingertips as the wooden lines curved and dipped down, stretching and twisting out of sight.

"I think that this was the best bloody picnic we've ever had." Killian turned on his side to stare at her, seeking confirmation.

"Really?" She shifted on the blanket, hoping that wasn't a tree root poking at the middle of her back. "Because I don't remember feeling completely exhausted  _before_  any of our other picnics."

He chuckled. "I warned you not to row for too long. A first-timer like yourself would wear out quickly."

"Thanks so much for that boost of confidence, Jones."

"Anytime, darling," he countered, winking.

When she tilted her neck back and wriggled, trying to find a good position for her tired legs, her dress slid upward in the midst of the awkward shuffle, exposing her thighs. Her hands scrambled to cover herself up, but the hem of the thin fabric got caught under her behind. Yanking it out would tear it. She was forced to sit up to fix it.

Killian had always prided himself on being a modern gentleman, but right now... Right now, he was blatantly, unashamedly ogling her chest. His eyes, ravenous and darkened, raked her legs and up her torso. Then he swallowed hard. A sudden cool breeze had swept by and caused a chill in her body. She could feel her nipples tighten, could see the tips poking through her top.  _Thank you, unhelpful cotton bra_.

An obtrusive memory popped into her head at just that moment. An old recollection, where the man beside her panted into her neck as they made love under the stars during one extended picnic. It was the summer before her freshman year at college. They had found a quiet, secluded spot in the woods right outside town. Their meal was followed by a dance without music, which ended when he stole a kiss, and then another, until they had a kissing frenzy. Their clothes were hastily shoved into the picnic basket before he covered her body with his own to keep her warm, making every touch worthwhile. They were so vocal and loud that she had worried they would get caught, or worse.

Emma hastily rose to her feet, brushing off pieces of grass on her clothes. Her legs were shaky enough that she wobbled, barely able to keep her balance. The last thing she needed was a fling with her ex ― in the middle of a public park, no less. The attraction between them was there, unavoidable, but they couldn't act on it. Their friendship would be hard enough to recover, without desire getting in the way.

She needed to focus.

"Are you alright, love?" He also got up, unrolling the cuffs of his shirt and leggings of his pants down.

She caught herself staring at his behind. Her cheeks were on fire as she slipped on her shoes. "I'm fine. It's just a little chilly, that's all."

But he was right ― this picnic  _was_  great. They had caught up on old times and filled each other in on details from past years. It wasn't just the great food, or how he reminded her of the happy person she used to be and that she wanted to be that person again. The ease and familiarity of their conversations left her with a deep sense of calm, peace and fulfillment. It was almost therapeutic to share her regrets and her best moments with someone who knew her so well. Best of all, she was certain she was on track again, walking the road of forgiveness and second chances.

However, she had to be careful. If she didn't rule her heart with her head, she would make a mistake and get hurt all over again. Killian Jones was handsome, charming, and eloquent. She could acknowledge that. What she could  _not_  do was leap into bed with him because of hormones. Or the fact that the first and last man she had ever slept with was right next to her, still interested.

Would he still be as good after so many years? Or since they'd both gone without for so long, would sex be even better?

Damn it, she shouldn't be thinking about this.

Was he thinking about this?

When their fingers touched as they folded the blanket, she saw how his jaw clenched. Obviously, she wasn't the only one with little self-control in this relationship.

If she could even call it that.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Dropping the picnic basket, he took her hands in his. "Emma, you're shaking. Tell me what's wrong."

Her lip trembled. She so badly wanted to ask him how many times he had dreamed of them at night, how much he had missed her. Cheesy as it sounded, he had made sex sacred for her. Neal was her first serious boyfriend since their break-up, but now she knew exactly why she had never really pushed the man to take things a step farther. She hadn't wanted him to.

For years, she had been craving Killian, needing only him.

His touch and kisses alone were imprinted on her body and her mind. The bed they had shared was part of the home he had created for her, a part of her very soul. Accepting someone else into hers was the unthinkable. It meant that she was moving on. And really, no matter how many times she had told herself otherwise, she had never moved on from him. It was impossible.

Their love was impossible.

Perhaps there was some comfort in believing in the impossible.

Now she could see it all so clearly. The barrier keeping her from forming a lasting tie with Graham and finally severing her connection with Killian was that stupid, undying love.

But she already knew that, didn't she? She had known that from the start, from the instant she met him when she was sixteen. Countless denials and vows didn't change anything.

Killian was unforgettable. So was their love.

Those were two truths she had to live with for the rest of her life.

"Swan, you're scaring me ― say something. Your face has gone ashen white." Gently, he reached out and caressed her cheek.

 _No_ , she commanded her heart, thudding madly.  _You cannot give in. I want friendship. I want to stay free. I don't want to be hopelessly, desperately in love again._

"Can you take me home, back to the hotel?" she finally whispered, looking up at him. He looked both confused and concerned for her.

She didn't imagine the kiss he pressed into her hair, or the arm he wrapped around her shoulder as he guided her down the path.

Her mind was on the brink of panic.

If she clung too much to the safety of his embrace, she would never want to leave him.

And that could  _not_  happen.

* * *

Killian caught on quickly to her changed mood, because he wasn't his usual talkative self. Head bowed, he stared at the carpeted floor in front of her hotel room, deep in thought. Once she got the damn room card to swipe correctly, Emma let herself in, pausing in the open doorway.

"I enjoyed our time today," she said quietly, trying to hide how deeply she meant that. "Will I... Can I see you tomorrow? We could go on a walk, or―"

His teeth tugged at his lower lip. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow."

"Oh." She never relied on weather forecasts ― they were only predictable enough to be untruthful ― so he would know better what New York weather was like. "Well, we could―"

His gaze snapped up to hers. "Go out to dinner with me."

The request took her by surprise, gaping and unable to form words. "Um..." She swallowed. "Isn't that a bit fast? One outing and you're already jumping to a dinner date?"

His eyebrows rose, and a mischievous smile darted across his face. "I didn't call it a date."

Heart hammering, she backtracked. "It sounds like one."

His gaze turned teasing. "If it makes you feel better, love, we can call it a friendly dinner date."

Glaring, she swatted at his arm, which made him chuckle. "Fine. Dinner. Your treat."

"My treat indeed, Swan. Allow me to plan the evening, then come for you," he grinned broadly. "Any preferences?"

"Yeah." She could flirt back. It was just innocent banter, right? "No clubs or wedding receptions."

His smile turned wicked. "Point taken. No karaoke bars either, I take it."

"Just a nice, quiet restaurant, where no one knows us," she purred, batting her eyelashes. She had always liked Killian's playful side and how it calmed her ― especially when she started pulling back because she was afraid she'd get hurt. He knew her inside out.

He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the top of it.  _Like old times._  Her chest tightened at the memory of the toy shop and how it had brought them together. He must have recalled the same, because he was still holding onto her fingers.

Then he licked at his lips, confusing her thoughts. It was more than unsettling that her body was so affected by his after all these years. This had to stop, for both their sakes, but she had no clue how to do that.

Their hands suddenly broke apart as if they were electrocuted.

"Well, then." He slipped his hands into his pant pockets. "I'll be here tomorrow evening."

Recovering a light tone of voice was easier said than done. "Don't make me wait up," she warned.

"Never." He shook his head, smiling sadly. "I think we've both waited too long already."

An elegant sweep of the head, a half-bow, and he was gone from her door.

If only it were so simple to erase him from her mind.

Instead, he left her with an ache that gnawed at the core of her heart.

* * *

She had always dazzled him, from the day they met. What he didn't expect was to be blinded when she met him in the hotel lobby.

The strapless number she was wearing was a bright, brilliant shade of red. Her hair was curled into soft waves, and a gentle sweep of makeup accentuated the true beauty of her face.

 _Bloody perfect_ , was all he could think. There never, ever would be another woman like Emma. He was as smitten as when they met.

Her gaze was gentle, and the soft smile she sent his way bewitched him further. His heart lurched from the strong desire to keep her in his arms, to profess a truth she wouldn't listen to.

If he declared he loved her, she would run away. She was so afraid of being hurt again by him that nothing would change that.

Running a hand through his hair, Killian huffed from frustration. He had pushed himself into a corner, tying his own hands and preventing himself from attaining happiness. Was he destined to live a life of regret until he mercifully died?

"You're doing it again." The tip of her tongue was peeking between her lips.

"What?"

Emma sighed. "You're over-thinking this."

"Apologies, lass." He tried to smile but his teeth caught on his lower lip. "I just want everything to be perfect."

Her gaze was serious and thoughtful. "You mean, you don't want to scare me away."

The insides of his stomach were churning. He was out of his league with the one person he thought he knew better than anyone else. The one person who knew him best.

What the bloody hell was he doing? How could he possibly begin to know how much she has changed in the past seven years?

"Hey, hey..." Her fingers curled over his arm. "I made you a promise. I promised I'd try. I'm not running, not this time."

He swallowed hard when she smiled at him in encouragement. Closing his eyes, he got a whiff of her perfume, the shampoo she used to bathe her hair, the starched fabric of her dress. Underlying all that was the lass herself, as if her sunshine could be bottled up and given a scent of its own.

It was the whisper of tenderness that undid him, the unmistakable brush of her lips over his cheek. He stood there like one paralyzed, hoping against every doubt that she had actually just kissed him. His heart immediately accepted it, now a caged beast trying to escape from his bloody ribcage. His mouth was still unable to form coherent words.  _It was just a kiss on the cheek, mate_ , he scolded himself.

"So..." She linked her arm through his. "Are we just going to stand here, or are you going to take me to dinner?"

Being a gentleman would be easier if his rebellious mind wasn't busy fantasizing whether she was wearing a bra underneath that sinful slip of a dress.

Nodding, Killian wetted his tongue. "Aye, let's go." Mustering a smile, he tugged her towards the sliding doors. "I have quite the special surprise in store for you, my dear."


	9. Part IX

_“This is stupid.”_

_“No, it's not.”_

_“It is, and it's completely embarrassing,” Emma insisted, pulling back._

_Killian continued to tug her toward the door. “It's stupid and embarrassing that I not only found us a new pastime, but one we can do together, as a couple?”_

_She tried once again to yank her hand out of his grasp. “That's not what I meant at all, damn it.”_

_“Then what is it, love?” Sighing, he finally let go of her. His voice was quiet, subdued. “What is it you're so afraid of?”_

_Her lower lip trembled. He just didn't understand. She needed to make him understand._

_“When I was six, my foster mom enrolled me in ballet classes. Even though I didn't want to go, she forced me to. She thought she was getting me out there, getting me to socialize... But all that happened was what always happened. Once the other kids found out I was a foster kid, they started picking on me. And then, during my first recital...”_

_His gaze, confused and hurt, softened. “Tell me?”_

_She clutched at her arms, crossed over her chest. “My foster parents didn't come. I waited and waited, but they didn't come. So I had to go up on stage and dance ― alone ― and I was terrified. There wasn't a single face in the audience that looked friendly or encouraging. But I tried, I really did.”_

_Another deep, ragged breath left her lungs. “And when it was all over, and I took my bow... No one clapped. There wasn't any applause; you could a pin drop in there. My ballet teacher congratulated me before I was carpooled home, but she looked at me like she felt sorry for me. Then I found out I was being sent back to my social worker the next morning.”_

_“Emma.” Killian's embrace was natural, soothing the memory like a caress over a bruise. She clung to him, burying her face in his shirt. “Why did you never tell me about this? We share everything. If I had only known...”_

_“It's nothing. I thought it didn't matter.”_

_“Nonsense.” He lifted her chin up so that she had to look into his eyes. “You matter to me. Your past, present, and future all matter to me.”_

_She tried to smile. “I'm sorry I ruined your surprise―”_

_“Sod that,” he said huskily. “We can leave right now if you want.”_

_All this time they had been together, she had promised herself she would try something new. Trusting Killian meant allowing him to guard her heart, but she couldn't say she regretted it so far. He was the first person to not let her down. He offered her choices. He gave her his heart and hasn't held anything back._

_What were a few dance lessons, in comparison to the love he had brought into her life?_

_“Actually...” Emma wiped away a few remaining tears from her cheeks. “I know we're a little late, but I don't mind staying if you don't.”_

_His expression was serious and concerned. He didn't budge. “Are you sure, lass? We don't have to do this.”_

_“Yeah, I know.” She felt her lips curl into a wide, beaming smile. “But you took a chance on me once. And I think it turned out pretty well.”_

_He gave her a crooked grin. “Aye, it turned out splendidly.” Her insides grew warm when he planted a soft, unexpected kiss on her cheek. “Thank you. For trying.”_

_Hand in hand, smiling like fools, they walked toward the studio entrance._

_That night, as she lay next to her sleeping boyfriend, Emma decided that overall, dancing was not so bad. In spite of how hard it was for her to practice in front of the other couples, she wanted to keep learning. She wanted to reach farther, not shy away from a challenge._

_All her hardships had made her lose faith in herself, leaving open wounds that didn't want to heal. But this man kept showing her that there was more to her than even she had believed possible._

_Since she was little, she had hidden inside herself, craving desperately to be loved. Killian filled that loneliness with so much more than just affection and sweet kisses._

_He gave her the hope and courage she needed to go on living._

* * *

Emma wasn't that fond of restaurants. She liked the convenience of eating out, but most of the time, the food was over-advertised or utter crap. Poor experiences with first dates ― and that tragedy of a botched proposal dinner with Neal ― only made her boycott those kinds of places more. She agreed to meet Killian at a location of his choosing because she felt neither of them were ready for close proximity in a personal room. Like his apartment, which she was dreading he would invite her to.

Being alone with him behind closed walls, where there was no one else but them, would be stepping into a trap of her own making.

They needed to take everything one step at a time, including personal space.

Even as she entered the Italian-styled restaurante called Tony's, she worried. By the end of this night, would there be another painful memory to add to her collection? Would she regret agreeing to this dinner?

All these doubtful thoughts were so loud in her mind that she felt dizzy, stomach curling and twisting, unable to paste an assuring smile on her face.

Killian was the perfect gentleman ― opening the door for her, pulling out her chair after their server guided them to a table. It wasn't until her hand came in contact with the cold water glass that she realized how empty the entire room was. Completely empty, actually. Where the hell were all the other customers?

"You're probably wondering why I brought you here." Killian was stroking his thumb against the white napkin, elegantly folded by his plate. "I wasn't sure if you'd like it, but I...I hoped you would. I thought something a little more private and relaxed would be better for us."

Her mouth curved into a small smile as things began to make sense. "Don't tell me you bought out the whole restaurant for the night?"

He turned his head to the side, biting down on his lower lip.

"Killian..." He shouldn't have. But she appreciated the gesture. This wasn't easy for either of them, after all. "Thank you for inviting me here ― you chose well. Restaurants...aren't really my style anymore. But this feels cozy."

"Cozy enough that it's comfortable? So we can talk?" He was now fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt. He always did that when he was nervous.

"Yeah. I'd...like that." Tentatively, she reached out across the table and squeezed his hand. "I'd like that very much."

She felt the muscles in his arms, tense and stretched, relax after she touched him. With a deep sigh, his eyes finally met hers, and the anxiety at the bottom of her stomach vanished.

"Shall I order us some drinks?" he offered with a sultry smile and raised brow.

"Hmm." She pretended to think about it. "I'm pretty light-headed. Is it wise for me to drink with you, all alone in an empty restaurant?"

"Why? Are you worried that you'll find me even more irresistible after a few libations?"

She rolled her eyes. He sure knew how to flirt. That hadn't changed. "No... I just think that getting drunk won't help."

Now he looked exasperated. "I was talking about a glass of wine, darling, not trying every bottle in the bar. You need to live a little," he finished with a cheeky wink.

"I did live," she shot back. She hated how haughty her voice sounded when she felt anything but. "Neal took me out lots of times."

"Oh?" He waved the server over, who poured wine into their glasses with a discreet smile before nodding and sliding out of sight. "And did any of these occasions include results that you regret now?"

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, not caring if that made her breasts bulge out of her dress. "Go on and say it, Jones. Ask me the question."

He took a mighty sip of his wine, pointedly not looking at her. "Don't know what you mean, lass."

She pursed her lips, digging her nails into her upper arms. "You want to know if Neal and I had sex."

"Really?" he said in a bored tone of voice.

"You weren't hinting at that just now?"

Killian huffed into his drink, which made it bubble.

She stifled a giggle. She had forgotten how childish he could be when in denial. "Just to get the awkward tension out of the air... The answer's no."

He peeked at her over the open menu he was using to hide his face. His cheeks were scarlet. "No?"

"No to all men over the years. Sure, there were blind dates, first dates... Honestly? School took up most of my time, and then work took its place." She savored the smooth, smoky taste of the vintage he had chosen. Damn, he was good at always choosing the right wine for dinner. "Romance was the last thing on my mind. STDs and birth control were not problems I wanted or needed, so that put sex out of the picture."

"What about Neal?"

"What about Neal?" She shook her head. "I admit that I was ready to go all the way with him, but he never insisted and I never asked. Then I found out he was a closeted gay, afraid to come out for fear of his father's repercussions. End of story."

"A beautiful woman like yourself, left high and dry all those years?" The menu fell onto the table with a hard snap. "It's incredible how you withstood temptation."

"Likewise," she fired back. His sudden irritation over her love life prickled. "Though I can't see why one detail like that matters so much to you."

He glowered at her.

She smirked. "You're jealous."

"Can't be jealous of someone who's not mine, love," he dismissed with a wave of his hand. The other combed through his hair, fingers frantically seeking snarls that weren't there.

The wine was getting to her, too. Her flying emotions, her lack of restraint, and a fervid desire for comeuppance indicated that she was well on her way to getting inebriated. She was already quite tipsy.

"Fine." Her voice came out strangely husky. "You're envious."

His jaw clenched. "I think it's better not to explore my wants at this point in time." His gaze darkened, raking over her with the same hunger as before, in the park. "I've learned to control them, to hold back, to distinguish between what I need and what I want. Perhaps I simply didn't want any women from my acquaintance."

She raised her brows. He believed in fidelity, but he was a passionate man. Had he _really_ been chaste all this time? "Not even your date, Tink the sculptor?"

"Ah," he chuckled. "Now who's the pot calling the kettle black?"

"I'm not jealous!"

She barely noticed when the server had placed their first course on the table. Minestrone soup, accompanied by crusty, thickly buttered bread. She took a big bite out of it, chewing furiously, shoving spoonfuls of soup into her mouth. She probably looked like a slob.

After she swallowed, she explained. "Why would I be jealous? It's not like you were mine all those years either. You were free to do what you wanted."

His lips were pursed as he gave her a thin, answering smile. He was clearly annoyed by that reminder. "You know the truth," he snapped. Then his tone became husky, lingering on every word. "You know perfectly well that I desire you, and only you. That I want more than friendship, but cannot ask for more. Does forcing me to admit this prove something?"

And there it was. He was right ― she had provoked this. She had wanted to know if he still was attracted to her, and now she did. The pain in his eyes was an unwelcome side effect she had to remedy.

Sighing, she pushed her empty plate aside. "I'm sorry. I don't want to pull answers out of you, but I think it's better to get feelings like that out in the open. And we're past playing with each other's feelings, right?"

He stirred his soup, staring absently at the moving spoon in his hand. "Aye. However, poking at those feelings is unnecessary."

He was right. She was playing with fire here.

Her hands had begun to shake. She clasped them under the table, trying to soothe her jitters by crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Great job, Emma. You just ruined the conversation.

"Well," she started as cheerily as possible, "I've been thinking on what else I want to see here within city limits. I would really like to visit any of your favorite places ― if you're willing to show me ― and I'm certainly open to recommendations."

He shrugged, half-smiling, his gaze set on his wine glass. "As you wish."

She was taken aback. "That's it? That's how excited you are?"

Pushing his soup aside as well, he leaned forward, now staring intently at her. "I will go wherever you'd like, do whatever you'd like, as long as I can be near you."

She tried to chuckle, fiddling with the ends of her hair. Asking for honesty meant accepting that Killian would always be passionate about how he felt. The awkwardness accompanying such confessions couldn't be avoided now that she wanted to reignite their friendship. Looking back on their first meeting as teens, she knew they were obviously a little bit in love with each other right from the start. Her issues and fears were appeased over time when she realized that Killian was nothing but genuine.

Until that bridge burned down when he walked out on her.

"I've said too much, again." He looked frustrated with himself.

"No, you haven't. I'm just unused to hearing such things." She cleared her throat. "It's been years. I wish...I really wish we could just pick up where we left off. It would make everything a lot easier. For both of us."

"Aye, and we wouldn't have to step around how we feel." Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. "What a bloody bastard I was."

There was a time when she would have given anything to hear him berate himself for his mistakes. Now, seeing such pain in his eyes hurt more than her own bitterness had.

But words wouldn't make the past better. That was why they had promised themselves to try and move forward.

"This is a nice place," she began. "You've dined here before?"

"A business client introduced me to Tony's fine spaghetti and meatballs." He smiled, graciously not mentioning that she had just changed the subject. "Takeout never tasted the same afterwards."

Emma rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. Killian had always loved starches. Pasta, potatoes, and whole grains covered their dinner table from year to year. "Men and carbs. You've just ordered a virtual plate of extra pounds that will take months to work off?"

"Ah, yes. Experimental with legumes and veggies, but stingy when it comes to real food. Have you deprived yourself of a proper meal all these years, love?"

"Honestly? I was so busy, many nights I settled for a sandwich and bowl of canned soup. Besides..." Her sight became blurry. "Cooking by myself just wasn't the same. I lost my appetite for it."

"Perhaps I could cook for you sometime," he offered quietly just as the server returned with two covered dishes.

"I'd like that," she whispered back.

Clearing his throat, Killian studied his wine glass again.

The smell of whatever was hidden under those lids was making her mouth water. Rubbing at her eyes, Emma sat up straighter in her seat. At least her stomach would be happy tonight.

"Tony's special spaghetti for the gentleman," the man presented to Killian with a flourish, "and ravioli with marinara and spinach for the lady."

She gaped at the simple but elegant presentation of the food. Breadsticks were deposited in a colorful tin in the center of the table, and then robust Italian music filled the void.

* * *

She tried to bully her mouth into opening ― to say anything to break the tension ― but it stubbornly stayed shut, set on chewing and not talking. Killian also looked like he was completely musing over the movement of his jaws and teeth, gaze flickering here and there without settling. It was up to her to―

"You always looked good in red." He raised an eyebrow. "It's still my favorite color, you know."

"Is it?" she chuckled. "Because you kind of copied that from me..."

"Minor details," he drawled, waggling his eyebrows. She laughed. "And speaking of sharing... Please satisfy my curiosity on how you became friends with Neal. I would love to hear that story."

She snorted in disbelief. "You're joking."

"Oh, I most certainly am not, darling," he purred, his voice and smirk a united front of instant seduction. "Don't hold back. Let's go back in time ― since we know the ending, tell me your story from the beginning to the middle."

Holy crap, he was serious. "But you've heard my history before. Won't a repeat of the things you know about me bore you?"

"Not at all. If it helps, tit for tat can be arranged. My own boring narrative gets passed along to you later."

"Killian, you're far from boring."

"Tsk tsk, no high-handed tactics on me, lass," he replied with a wink. "You're changing the subject again."

"I thought you wouldn't notice."

"Oh? Like I haven't noticed you eyeing my dashing self all evening? You really shouldn't cross your legs so often, love ― I know exactly where that anxiety is originating from."

Flushing from embarrassment, she stuck out her tongue at him. He returned the gesture, adding a sensual lick of his lips as an extra special touch. Cheeky bastard.

"You shouldn't joke about such things." Only he could make her so flustered.

"Why heavens not? I love our banter. It's always so much fun reading you." His gaze deepened into an all too-knowing smolder. "It reminds me...of happier times. Times when we enjoyed our conversations to the fullest ― and especially what came after them-"

"Stop it. We're still in a public restaurant, damn it," she hissed at him. Her skin was growing hot, and her face was surely red.

True to form, he pretended to consider before giving in. "Fine. I'll behave." He bit down on his bottom lip and gave her a defiant look, tilting his chin up. "That doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

"You mean, not acting like a college frat boy with raging hormones?"

He grimaced horribly, which made her laugh out loud again. Killian had abhorred fraternities ever since he had been invited to join one on campus. Needless to say, one open house trip later, he had returned home utterly disgusted with the entire idea, swearing off alcohol for a year.

If talking about something serious was the only way to shut up those innuendos...

"Fine," she acceded, groaning inwardly. "I'll bite. You really want to hear about the Neal train wreck?"

Looking delighted, he leaned forward, arms pressing into the tablecloth. "Aye, every last bit."

* * *

Giving Emma an opportunity to focus on herself ― instead of staring at the table and not at all ― did wonders. As she ranted against Neal and explained the series of events that led to their dating, Killian saw her visibly relax.

He was entranced by her every move, the enthusiasm in her voice as she digressed and talked about the years he'd missed. He would never be able to take part in those moments ― her graduations, her excitement at landing her first graphic designer job, her abismal clients and her best projects.

Nonetheless, he felt like he had lived through it all with her, and he was proud of her for being so strong and building herself a new start. When he told her as much, she blushed and waved away his praise.

All the while, his heart continued to thud wildly, the wretched traitor. He could lavish her with the compliments she deserved and chatter about old times. He could be her friend. But he had loved her from afar for so long that being near her, yet unable to hold her, was bloody killing him. His sight glazed over as he half-listened to her recall her a funny anecdote from her recent vacation, his mind desperate and frantic in its search for a way to hide the truth.

Could he hide it, though? Emma and he had played card games many times when they were younger. He had a lousy poker face ― she had teased him then that his eyes always gave away his emotions in spite of his impassive expression. It was true before, and it was true now. He would have a hell of a time concealing his feelings before her sojourn in New York was over, but he would try for her sake. All he could wish for at this point was her ultimate happiness. His own was out of the picture; he would probably struggle to come to terms with that for as long as he lived.

That didn't make the path before him feel any easier, however chilvarous it seemed.

Superficially, the dinner was going according to plan. On the other hand, it was not. Forming new memories of Emma, her smile and her laughter, only strengthened his old memories and reminded him of how much he was about to lose. He was dreading the inevitable. The moment they had to say good-bye to each other would certainly cut him in two.

Therefore, it was best if he kept himself focused and made this a memorable night for Emma. He owed her that, at least. He owed her good parting memories of him and what they have always shared: kindred hearts.

Their server ― the only person present in Tony's except for the chef in the kitchen ― was peeking at them through the kitchen doors. Killian nodded imperceptibly at him, their agreed signal.

At of a sudden, the speakers crooned out the opening strains of a familiar love ballad, one of Emma's secret favorites.

Suddenly silent, she had cocked her head and was peering at him in confusion, until she realized just why he had stopped talking.

"You can't be serious." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You not only paid off the restaurant to be empty, but also convinced them to use your sappiest playlist? You've got some nerve, Jones. That probably burned a hole in your wallet."

"Oh come on, darling." He tried to sound buoyant, attempting a wry grin. "Where's your sense of adventure? You know that in your heart of hearts, you adore my sappy romantic playlist. Don't you recall? Besides, though I appreciate your concern for my wallet, I can certainly afford playing a little special music for a dear friend."

When he started to hum along with the intro's melody, Emma looked skeptical. Her eyes narrowed as he stood up and extended his hand to her. "Care to dance, love?"

Her expression didn't change. He swallowed hard. He knew that look ― she was hesitating. Perhaps he really was reading too much into her offer of friendship. Perhaps he was out of bounds in recreating this particular memory from their past.

Something inside him ached at the thought of how, once upon a time, they had only danced with each other and no one else. Perhaps the world, cynical and cruel, was right to say that young love could never last.

Then, like the unfurling of a butterfly's wings, a flicker of a soft smile curled her lips. Slowly, she rose from her chair and walked toward him.

And while Chris de Burgh sang on about seeing true love right in front of you, Killian swept his own stunning lady in red into his arms.


	10. Part X

Emma hadn't laughed like this in the longest time. Even on her trip, she didn't experience such exhilaration as she had this evening, dancing with Killian.

He kept surprising her. First, they waltzed. Then, he coaxed her into a slow dance with the soulful "Unchained Melody." Every oldie she remembered from the past, that they had enjoyed together as a couple, was somehow part of his playlist. All their ballroom dance lessons came back to life, and the music was a reminder of good times. She felt young, energetic, out of breath...

It was terrific.

"I hope I didn't push you too hard tonight, love."

Shaking her head, she entwined their arms and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. They were wandering the streets near the restaurant, not heading anywhere particular. The rain had started, drizzling and showering, but that didn't deter Killian, who came prepared with a black umbrella. He had unfurled it and was now holding it over both their heads.

It was relaxing enough to just look at the Hudson River in the darkness, only illuminated by the moon and the twinkling lights of the busy nightlife beyond. But sooner or later, she would have to leave her vacation behind and get back to her life in Boston.

A life without Killian.

Letting go of her resentment against him had uncovered a deep hole in her heart; happiness was something she had always associated with him and their relationship, so accepting its end was the same as telling herself that she had to seek out a new definition of happiness.

Graham had tried to tell her that. And she had desperately tried to convince herself for so many years that it was possible to live without her first love and find love again. After Neal and reuniting with Killian, could she even have that level of emotional intimacy with someone else?

She wasn't the marrying type. Heck, she wasn't even the dating type. But family was a dream she needed, one that she had held onto since she was little. If she didn't have the strength to date again, or she decided that she was safer without that part of her life altogether, she would also have to give up that beautiful dream.

Maybe the truth was that she already had. Her walls had crushed it.

"Not to ruin the moment, lass, but I was wondering..." He too was staring at the distant glow over the water. "Can we keep in contact after you go home? Would that be okay?"

She sighed. "I'm not going yet."

"I know. But it's better to be prepared ahead of time." His throat bobbed against the crown of her head.

There were volumes of things they couldn't say to each other, things they didn't know how to say. She had promised herself that instead of worrying, she would take each day and moment as it came.

"I'll text you my number," she finally replied, certain that keeping in touch with him was the right choice. "And, hey, even after I'm gone, we'll see each other again. Right?"

"Aye, we will." The tone of his voice, sad and resigned, made her chest ache inside. "I just found out that the company has extended my stay here indefinitely. They like how I've been taking care of proceedings here, so they want me to stay on. I don't know when I'll be back in Boston."

Well, that was just great. She made all this effort to reconnect with him, and now circumstances were holding them apart again.

“We can still make it work. I can come down and visit, or you could come up and visit me...” Her voice faltered. Who was she kidding? They were two busy, working professionals. She had barely taken a trip in that many years of endless commissions and projects. With hectic schedules and changing clients, what she was suggesting was almost impossible to make a reality.

He lifted her chin ever so slightly with his fingers, searching her eyes. “Aye, we can try.”

She smiled at him, hoping he didn't doubt her. Slowly, he smiled back.

Cars honking by and screeching sirens drew them away from each other, breaking the haze of their embrace. Blinking, Killian cleared his throat and peered at his watch. “Let me get you back to your room, lass. It's quite late―”

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?” She raised a brow. “Or is there a reason why you're suddenly acting so parent-like?”

“No, but sleep is important to me.” He ducked his head, shrugging his shoulders. She chuckled at that.

Hands entwined, they began to walk in the direction of her hotel.

“You know, as you pointed out during dinner, there was a time that other things were more important to you.” She nudged him playfully.

“Emma, you're not helping right now.”

“Oh come on, stop being so serious. You used to like staying up late ― to talk, dance...”

“And aye, for other enjoyable activities ― we've discussed this,” he cut in quickly, dropping her hand. She could see his cheeks reddening even in the low light. “Let's leave it at that.”

The wide glass doors of the hotel swung open when they ducked inside, revealing an empty lobby. The night clerk, eyes glued to the computer, didn't even pay attention to them as they strode toward the elevator.

When the solid doors closed, she insisted, “Killian, I know you. I know that you like to take comfort in the company of others and that being alone takes a toll on you. It's okay if you've―”

“Don't.” Jaw clenching, knuckles straining over the umbrella handle, he gritted his teeth. “Don't spoil the loveliest evening I've had in years by telling me something like that. You can believe what you please, but don't wave it in my face. I haven't, and I won't.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Gaze fixed straight ahead, Emma waited for the elevator to release her from it. Despite his disbelief, she really could not understand why he wouldn't have sought out other women all those years. Sure, he might have _desired_ her, but this was a viable question. He was virile and good-looking. He was charming. He didn't have to be playing a martyr when it was obvious he was still very much a man with a man's desires.

He was also too stubborn and pig-headed sometimes.

On her right, he scoffed disbelievingly. “You really do not see it, love.”

No, she really didn't. After the shitty cards life had thrown her in terms of relationships, she had no reason to think anyone could or would stay faithful that long.

The doors chimed opened again. Ignoring him, she rushed out to find her room and leave this messy ending behind.

“Emma.”

She walked faster, even though her heels were aching.

“Emma, wait. Please.” He caught up to her when she was keying herself in. “I didn't mean it like that. You have every right to ― to not believe me ―”

“Say it, then.” A tired sigh escaped her. Maybe she was getting too old for games, especially dating games. “Just say what's really on your mind, Killian.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting between her and the carpet. “I...it wouldn't be...proper.”

“Why?” She let him slip inside with her and close the door behind him.

When the privacy of the room struck him, he continued, “Because you said you wanted to try to be friends ― and Emma, I'm trying as well. Bloody hell, I'm trying.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing in front of her. “But then I'm with you, and...I can't think. I don't know how to think. I feel things a friend shouldn't, and I don't know what to do with those goddamn feelings. When you question my self-restraint, everything backfires. I end up feeling drained. I feel...like I don't know who I am without you.”

“What,” she let out a deep breath, “what does this have to do with not sleeping around?”

He perched on the armrest of the loveseat in the corner. “Then forgive me if I'll be blunt, darling. Sex is something I've enjoyed and will always enjoy. But not apart from you.” His eyes blazed, burning with truth. “I don't want some stranger in my bed ― I want the woman I love. This is the real me speaking, and you know it.”

Now she got what it meant to be gaping like a fish. Her lungs weren't working right, as if she were underwater with no air.

“You don't owe me a bloody thing. You don't have to respond to this ― outburst of mine ― at all. But we promised each other honesty, and I don't want to hide the truth from you ever again.”

He not only wanted her; he still loved her. And that wasn't a shock or a surprise, because she had already guessed the truth, had seen the way he looked at her when he thought her focus was elsewhere. She had denied it to herself all along, though she had known better.

However, hearing it aloud was a lot to process. It was worse when she asked herself if they could still be friends in spite of that mutual knowledge.

With a sigh, she sunk into the soft mattress, making sure to kick off her shoes. Damn, her feet hurt. At least she knew how she felt about that.

A minute later, he sat next to her. “I'm sorry, Swan. I didn't want to overwhelm you...”

“First off,” she snapped, rubbing her temples, “enough with the apologies. Second, there's nothing to apologize for. You told me about your feelings. It was bound to happen. The end."

His brow furrowed. “You're not upset?”

She huffed. “Why should I be upset? I only ever wanted to hear those words for the past six years.” Before he could interrupt, she said, “Look, it's okay. It's fine. Friends can love each other, right? If you can live with it, I can do the same. No big deal.”

“Such nonchalance. I expected you to at least throw your shoes at me for my confession,” he replied with a wry grin.

She motioned as if to pick them up. “I can still act on that...”

They both chuckled. But when the laughter died out, her insides were all twisted from confusion.

Could she actually do what she said ― stare into Killian's eyes, filled with love, and just disregard that emotion altogether?

_Hell yes._

Her heart disagreed vehemently.

_But love is never worth the pain and heartache, especially not in her experience._

The inner turmoil made her head pulse with an oncoming migraine.

His hand gently covered hers. “Don't worry about it. I'm happy to just have regained your friendship. I can certainly keep my hands to myself. "

His black shoes, classic and elegant, were the fine Italian leather he always preferred to choose for his footwear. Emma smiled sadly, staring down at them. It probably took several lifetimes to really get to know someone, a challenge most people couldn't survive out of boredom or frustration. Killian and she were the least likely candidates to pass such a test, but here they were again, stumbling through and making it to the end.

_Love is never about winning. Love is reaching the finish line and still wanting to be together._

Desire spiraled through her, fast and heady — no, not desire, she realized. The need to be held by the one person who understood her best. "Could you..." She swallowed thickly, biting back her tears. "Could you hold me, just for a moment? Sorry, I—"

"Never apologize for wanting that, darling," he said gruffly, pulling her to him.

Hours or minutes could have flown by, but she didn't care. All felt right in the world when Killian embraced her like this and kept her safe in the shelter of his arms.

"It's hard to let go of your dreams," she said, hearing her voice break. "I wish I were braver, were able to trust better..."

His cheek pressed against her hair. "I wish I had never let you go. Being with you for the rest of my life was my greatest dream, love. I won't deny that I still think of you, late at night when I can't sleep, and imagine what our life would have been like."

 _And she, despite everything that had happened, had wanted nothing more than to spend her nights in his arms._ Forcing a smile on her face, she leaned back and wiped her cheeks dry with the back of her hand. "Let's not waste time on regrets, then. Let's spend the rest of the time I'm here together, as friends."

He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb over a tear she missed. "Your wish is my command, darling. I'll bargain with my boss for some days off, so I can show you around. I want your stay to be as wonderful as you are."

She blushed, holding her breath when he got up and then gently kissed her forehead. "Good night, my beautiful Princess Emma, and thank you for a marvelous evening. I hope you have new, brilliant dreams, filled with happiness." When he was right by the door, about to leave, he turned and gave her a lopsided grin. "No more tears now, alright? Smile. You light up the whole bloody world when you smile, lass."

 _Princess_. He remembered. No one else ever would, but he did.

She tried to wave goodbye, mustering a half-smile. But he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Burying her face in the hotel pillows, she could still hear his words echoing in her head.

_"I hope you have new, brilliant dreams, filled with happiness."_

Perhaps it hurt too much to say goodbye forever.

* * *

Killian was very knowledgeable about New York City — the best sights, architecture, and food stops.

They even explored a few shops, with her refusing to splurge on herself and his insistence that she do, resulting in a few heated arguments that made some of the salespeople giggle behind their backs. He ended up grabbing the items she was interested in and purchasing them himself, claiming they were overdue birthday presents. She pouted all the way back to her hotel room that day, if only to see him laugh at her unreasonableness.

Every day had its own agenda and new delights, with hundreds of photos to document every moment.

There were already over fifty text messages on her phone from Killian ― updates about his boring work day, or guesses for “I Spy” while she walked the city streets in search of the monuments and attractions he recommended she see, providing clues along the way. Smartphones could provide interesting, interactive experiences after all.

One of her favorite outings with him was when they took the ferry around Staten Island. Seeing Killian out on the water again, happy and smiling and carefree, softened years of sorrow. He had always been his own person and had the right to make his own choices outside of her. Yes, he had chosen to go to Liam, but he had still loved her, too. With each shared moment, mutual acceptance of the lives they had lived without each other slowly became what it ought to be: strong understanding between them.

Which was why, day by day, she wondered more and more how she was going to go back to Boston by herself. It was tempting to throw caution to the winds and just stay here. But her sense of good judgment, her pride ― whatever it was that was holding her back convinced her that eventually, she would need to return.

* * *

The last day before her flight home, Killian invited Emma to his apartment.

Honestly, she was expecting that. It didn't explain why her whole body was shaking while she was knocking on his door, why her mind was in turmoil. She had purposely gone with casual attire, a simple sweater and jeans and flats, and no makeup. They were friends, she kept telling herself. They were _only_ friends. This was okay. Visiting each other was normal; it didn't mean anything.

Seeing him also in a simple shirt and jeans, with mussed hair and a tired smile, only emphasized how close they were once again. If they could feel comfortable dressing like this around each other, then their friendship had renewed itself faster than either of them could have imagined.

“Hey.” She fiddled with the hem of her sweater, unable to lift her gaze from the floor. “Can I come in?”

When she did dare to look at him, his expression changed from exhausted to flirty in seconds. With a cheeky wink, he took a bow, saying, “Please do. Welcome to my humble abode, Your Highness.”

She sighed loudly. “Killian, how many times must we go over this? I'm not a princess or a queen or anything special like that.”

“Even if you deny it, you are all that to me. Always.” He ushered her inside. “Would you like something to drink? A bite to eat? I remembered to cook.”

Indeed, something smelling delicious was adorning the dinner table, wisps of steam vanishing in the air. Yet her appetite wasn't in sync with her stomach tonight.

“I'm fine for now, thanks.” She leaned against the countertop, taking in the interior of his place. From the granite tiles in the kitchen to the grand piano in the middle of the living room, the custom design was exceptional. “Wow, you spared no expense. I like how everything has your personal touch.”

“It is my investment. When I came to this city for the first time, I knew I would probably be back ― for work. Instead wasting money on hotels, I shopped for real estate, saw this flat, and thought, why not fix it up myself?” Pouring himself some wine, he swirled the liquid in his glass, deep in thought. “It took me half a year or so, but...I'm really happy with the results. At least something is waiting for me here, besides the skyscraper office.”

“It's beautiful. Really. I'm proud of you.” She smiled at him before staring out at the distant lights, visible through the large glass walls. There was nothing waiting for her in her own apartment, except several boxes of personal items and memories of a broken heart. “I bet it gets pretty lonely, though. This big space, all to yourself...I know I would be.”

“Aye,” he whispered huskily, still eyeing his wine. “It is lonely. But I can make peace with that, if I must. We cannot always have what we want.”

Emma looked sideways at him. “Killian Jones believed in fighting for what he wanted.”

“Killian Jones lost that fight, long ago. There is a time to fight ― and a time to accept defeat.”

The conversation was surely heading towards an impasse. She stepped in front of him and plucked the glass of wine from his hand, taking a sip. “Hey, none of that. If you can get me to smile again, I can do the same for you.”

His jaw tightened when she pushed the empty glass onto the counter and then turned back to him. The grin that crossed his lips looked forced. “Of course, love. Forgive me.”

He then offered a considerable repertoire of DVDs to choose from, if she wished to watch a movie. Instead of talking, the next two hours were spent in silence, with her peeking at him when she thought he wasn't looking and vice versa. Sometimes, their eyes would meet, and in the interim that followed, he almost seemed ready to tell her something.

But aside from their knees occasionally touching and how he kept his hands tightly clasped in his lap, as if he were afraid releasing them would upset her, nothing happened.

When the credits finally rolled out on the screen, she scanned the time on her phone. If she wanted to be up early for her flight, she needed to go to bed soon. As always, he was the perfect gentleman, walking her to the door. The moment they got there, with his hand on the doorknob, she froze, unable to take another step.

How do you leave behind the person you care most about?

Maybe it was the wine getting to her head, but she leaned in closer, breathing him in. His gaze didn't leave hers. “Will you see me off tomorrow, at the airport?”

His shoes were touching hers. “Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” she whispered, drinking in every detail of his face. Every wrinkle and crease had a meaning and was a sign of emotions he'd never tell her about. “I...ahem...I can't thank you enough for showing me around, for spending time with me. It made my stay here extra special.”

“It was nothing, love.” He cleared his throat, glancing away. “It was a pleasure and an honor.”

“Don't downplay your role ― if I were alone, I probably would have stayed cooped up in my hotel room, eating chocolates and browsing the Web and getting fat,” she teased, trying to win another smile from him. “I enjoyed our walks, our trips. I enjoyed being with you.”

“And I with you.” His finger was tentative as it caressed her cheek, a slow and gentle touch. Then his thumb, trembling, dared to brush over her lips. “Do you need anything, before you go?”

Her breathing became strained. At the pit of her stomach was the need to know ― the longing to know ― just how it would feel to kiss him after all these years without him. In less than 24 hours, they would be miles apart. Would his kiss hurt so much?

Of course it was insane. A kiss invited a cycle of trouble. It must be the alcohol clouding her sense of judgment, lowering her guard. But there was also exhaustion. She was tired of always fighting herself, of doing what was safe. She should be reckless for once. She should take a chance on herself and ignore repercussions.

Her palm smoothed over his cheek, savoring the bristle of scruff, until her entire hand enveloped the left side of his face. Then a sweet warmth tightened her chest as she stood up on her tiptoes, eyelids closing, lips parting. She was seeking him out. Would he let her find him, or would he reject her?

“One kiss,” she heard herself murmur. “One last kiss, to remember us by.”

A deep groan rumbled from within his throat before she tasted him, his lips slanting over hers.

He explored every corner of her mouth, never hurrying, never insisting. Her other hand had found its way to the nape of his neck, holding him steady, while his arms wrapped around her waist, fingers inching up the small of her back. There was the feel of him again, pressed against her like they had been as young adults back in Storybrooke, experiencing first love. The rush of it all threatened to flood her senses and drown her rising thoughts.

Puffs of air, from inhaling and exhaling through the nose, tickled her skin. Together, they broke apart, foreheads touching, their conjoined pulse her only anchor in the midst of this inner storm.

“Emma. _Emma_. Darling, darling Emma.” His eyelashes were wet. “Help me. Help me to let go. I don't know how to move on ― from us.”

Her heart echoed that intense ache, that enigma of a fierce tug that refused to disappear. Gathering him into a hug, she buried her face in his neck, biting back a sob. “I'll miss you, too. I'll miss you, Killian.” Her voice broke. “You're not the only one who doesn't know how to say goodbye.”

He recovered faster, guiding her back to the couch. Once seated, she clung to him again, breathing in the musky scent of his shirt, the barest hint of cologne he wore. He wasn't just her ex-boyfriend or ex-fiancé; he was her family. She had been so attached to him that she never realized what a significant part of her life he was, how intertwined their lives were. She had taken his love and his presence for granted. What if he had been lost to her forever?

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I would be happy to just sit next to you, here on this couch, forever if I could.”

“Could I?” The sad image of her silent hotel room gave her chills. “Could I stay the night, just like that? Would that be okay?”

She heard the smile in his voice when he replied, “Cuddling with me, you mean?”

“Yes, cuddling,” she said, curling into him. His arms tightened around her. “I always slept better when we shared the same bedroom. It made me feel safe.”

He paused before he began to stroke her hair. “Remember our studio flat, where we could barely move around?”

“God, that was a pain. Upgrading to the two-bedroom was like winning the lottery,” she chuckled.

“But we had some fun times there. It wasn't all bad.”

“No, it wasn't.” Her eyes were closing, growing heavy. Sleep would help put her mind to rest, if only for several hours. “It was the first home I ever had.”

“I know, love,” he whispered, resting his cheek on the top of her head. His breaths evened out. “And for me, home meant being with you.”

Somehow, Bryan Adams' gruff, crooning voice worked its way into her mind, turning Killian's words around.

_It isn't too hard to see we're in heaven._

* * *

Maybe she had expected her departure to be melodramatic. Maybe she had imagined all the agitation and anxiety boiling inside. Maybe she was overreacting.

Maybe not.

The night on the couch had turned into a pretty normal morning, by her standards. Upon awakening, she accepted Killian's offer of breakfast, downing her coffee and eggs quickly. Then they rushed to her hotel so she could take a shower and pack her things (the parasol he had given her was tucked safely into her suitcase). He hailed a cab ― she teased him about being a true New Yorker ― and next thing she knew, she was at the airport terminal, with only her carry-on by her side.

The week had passed by in such a rush. Now she was standing in front of Killian, about to head back to her life in Boston.

“Well...” Her eyes darted between him, the floor, and the ceiling. “I guess...this is goodbye.”

“Aye.” Lifting her hand, he pressed a kiss to the top of it. “Safe travels, darling. Text me after you land, alright? I don't trust bloody airplanes.”

She laughed. “Yeah, of course I will. And you take care of yourself ― no more wine right before bedtime.”

“I'll try my best, lass.” His warm smile faltered. “This is really it, then. I won't see you until God knows when.”

If only she was better at saying outright what was tumbling inside her brain and speeding across her heart. Even now, the words refused to come. Eyes burning, lips trembling, she whispered shakily, "Yes. You know I'm not a goodbye person —so let's promise not to forget each other okay? Don't forget me, Killian. I won't forget you."

"And I will never forget you, Emma. I promise you I won't," he affirmed, his voice deep and rough.

Their arms found each other, entwining. His embrace was the world she wanted to live in, where love and happiness existed. But she had to go back to reality because that was all she really had. Her happy ending with him was a fantasy, a dream she once dreamed.

It was time to finally put that dream to rest.

Biting hard on her lower lip, she pulled away from him, turned around, and ran toward the boarding gate, unable to look back for fear she would lose control. Every step she took on that ramp echoed every unspoken thought she withheld, every feeling she quelled.

Emma Swan did not and could not lose control. It was now the one thing she had left. The whole point of this vacation was that if she couldn't live for love, then she had to live for herself.

That journey had ended, while the other had just begun.

Wiping under her eyes, she settled into her uncomfortable seat and tried not to picture Killian's broken gaze in the window, a summary of everything she was flying away from as the plane took off and left NYC behind.

* * *

“Welcome home!” Ruby squealed, jumping up and down. Behind her, holding a ridiculously large bouquet of pink roses, Graham chuckled.

“It was only a couple of months,” Emma defended, laughing when her friend launched into her arms and gave her a huge hug. “Calm down, Ruby ― you'll break my ribs.”

“You almost broke _my_ peace of mind, cavorting out in the middle of nowhere while I had to wait for Victor to get on and off shifts. Graham?”

He shrugged, holding the flowers in front of his face as a shield. “It's true. She was restless and bored without you.”

After Ruby released her, Emma rolled her eyes, bending down to pick up her suitcase. “Sure you were.”

Graham beat her to it, taking all her luggage and leaving the roses in her arms. The dazzling smile he flashed at her was so goddamn warm in the middle of that freezing airport that she couldn't help but grin back.

“How about you, Deputy? Missed me?”

“Infinitely.” He winked, hefting her suitcase. “You look wonderful, Emma. Glad to have you back.”

Before Emma could reply, Ruby whined, “Come on, you two, let's get of here. No offense, but airports are not my idea of fun.”

The walk back to Graham's car undulated with random conversation, from Ruby's antics with Victor to what was new at work. Ah, there was that Boston sky. It felt good and strange to be back, as if she were in a foreign place and didn't know what to do next.

However, what Emma did not talk about was Killian. Thankfully, Ruby didn't ask and Graham kept his questions to himself. Perhaps the joint interrogation was delayed until she wasn't so jet lagged, she mused. She could see the curiosity in their eyes while she noted some fun times in New York, but neither of them commented on her obvious companion.

When they all reached her apartment, Ruby and Graham escorted her up, wished her a restful night, and waved to her from below before speeding off. She was left alone quicker than even she expected.

Alone. Damn it, she forgot to text Killian.

Flipping through the photo gallery on her phone, she texted her favorite recent picture of them, cheek to cheek as they posed for the camera, with the message “Landed safely, hope you're alright.”

He didn't text back.

Fifteen anxious minutes later, she thought about messaging him again. Then the walls of her apartment caught her attention.

They were bare. In the old days, she and Killian had nailed up dozens and dozens of framed photographs and artwork to “keep the atmosphere colorful,” in his words. Their studio wasn't bare.

Her gaze fell on the boxes tossed in the corner, the dusty furniture. She had her job, and this was her apartment... Yes, she was in control. That didn't equal happiness, otherwise she wouldn't have been so miserable the last seven years.

A spark of life was missing here. The spark that had existed when she came from her shift at the toy shop and Killian greeted her with a heart-stopping smile. That spark that had grown when it was just the two of them snuggling together on cold evenings, all darkness outside fought back by the light inside their cozy abode. The breathing, changing spark that burned hotly in their bed, when they were fast asleep and wrapped in each other's arms.

This world she said was hers was dismal, gray, colorless. It was dead.

Maybe she should sleep on this, she pondered. But the sight of her phone's screen, blank and clear of message alerts, was a silent prod.

Once and for all, did she care about Killian or not?

He had left. He had left without fighting for them. That was a fact. Neither of them could change that it had happened. The past was done.

But then again...she didn't go after him either. She didn't pursue him. Even if he wouldn't have wanted it, even if she would have felt too humiliated to do it, even if it would have been a dead end, she did not find him. She did not seek him out. She did not _try_.

She should have.

Their relationship had never been one-sided, but she had treated it as such. She had thought that he didn't want her, so she let him go.

She _assumed_.

She lost faith in herself and her worth.

For the sake of their friendship and their shared years and damn it, _their love_ , she should have tried harder.

Digging through her suitcase, she took out the delicate parasol, marveling again over the design and artistry in such a simple object.

There was a choice, waiting for her, right now. In this moment, her heart had a choice.

She has been fighting for happiness her whole life. The decision was hers.

Should she stay, or should she fight?

* * *

It was all Killian could do not to stare at his phone during work, his eyes adhered to the screen like an idiot. Looking at photos of him and Emma was not helping to boost his morale.

But he did peek anyway. Every second he felt his focus lapsing, he stared at those green eyes, determined to go on with life without her there. After all, he had survived seven bloody years without Emma. What was a fucking lifetime?

When he trudged back to his apartment that night, knowing there was nothing awaiting him, it was almost like a walk of death. Her text, confirming that she really was gone and home in Boston, had hit him hard with too much realization and too many feelings. He relived that moment when he had boarded that damn plane and went back to England for Liam's sake ― how irrational he was, not thinking ahead.

Instinctively, his hand opened the cupboard where he kept his alcohol. Then his fingers stopped short, tapping on wood.

His promise to Emma. Whether it was serious or a joke, he could honor her by keeping his word and staying away from the bottle.

Just when he was right about to sit down and eat his supper, a simple plate of boiled potatoes and baked chicken with a glass of water, there was a knock at the door.

He ignored it.

With the next 30 seconds, three more knocks came, strong and steady.

Rolling his eyes, he pushed his chair back and got up, striding toward the source of the noise. Never mind that he was wearing pajama pants and a tee, and his feet were bare. Whoever thought it was okay to disturb someone at this ungodly hour―

He could not believe what he was seeing. His mind went blank and his jaw dropped. “Swan? You came back?”

Pale face and windswept hair, she was looking at him as if he were a ghost. “Killian....”

No one in the world could have been more surprised than he when she stepped forward, flung her arms around him, and kissed him.

* * *

His heartbeat was right beneath her palm, reminding her to take things slowly. But he was kissing her back, tongue against hers. His hands slid up her back to run over her shoulders, resting there, before descending over her sides. Fingers curled under her shirt, hesitating. She sighed into his mouth, nipping at his lips. One hand, hot and heavy and trembling, was splayed over her stomach, inching up until fingertips grazed the edge of her bra, while the other cupped her waist. It was a simple, nondescript sports bra that was more cotton than spandex, and her underwear was the plainest of the plain ― lingerie was the last thing on her mind when she had hopped onto that train―

“May I undress you, darling?”

She smiled. Even now, he asked. He always wanted her to choose first. “Please do,” she whispered back, fingers wandering over his chest.

There were no buttons. Her arms went up and so did her shirt, smoothly peeling off of her skin. She heard his breath catch in his throat.

Emma blushed. Whatever he was seeing, it probably didn't look that sexy. Seven years was a long time. The college her was younger, leaner, firmer. Undoing the drawstring of her pants, she kicked them off so that she was only in her underwear. If he had any second thoughts about this, he had to speak up now.

When he continued to stand there, staring and silent, she couldn't take it anymore. "Am I...." She cleared her throat. "This probably wasn't what you were expecting."

"This?" he finally croaked out, eyes darting to her rising breasts.

"Me. Older me," she explained, not meeting his gaze. "The last time we...we...I was...better looking. Younger."

His lips parted in a soft smile. "We both have aged, love. There's no denying that. I also am older. But if it's a question of whether you still attract me," he purred, "I think you look bloody marvelous."

His eyes shone, fierce heat that could strip her bones of skin and leave her truly naked. "So you like me?" she asked cautiously.

His fingers played with her bra straps, pulling them down. "Aye, I do ― more than just _like_ you, sweetheart."

Now her bra was hanging on by just the cups. "Not disappointed either?"

Cool air caused her exposed nipples to tighten, the sensitive skin pebbling. "Bloody hell no."

After lifting the bra off, she was unsure what to do. Years without sex had made her awkward and not confident about how to flaunt her body.

But that was the wonderful thing about Killian: he could follow her cues, read her expressions and act on them. His first choice was to caress the valley between her breasts with a finger, circling around each peak before he finally weighed them in his hands.

That touch set every nerve on fire, tingling in anticipation. She lifted a brow. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

He smirked, that wicked grin from dinner days before which had doused her in pure want, before kneading and massaging, rubbing at her nipples with his thumbs in slow, steady circles. Then he leaned down for a hungry kiss, inviting her into his mouth.

In a flurry of fabric, they stripped off his own shirt and pants, bold touches becoming desperate. Muscled chest and broad shoulders came into view, bringing back so many memories. Time had certainly been kind to him.

His lips covered her neck, skimmed down her throat. "Darling, you need to know..."

She gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone, tickling her. "Yeah?"

"Because I've been...abstinent..." He tore his mouth away to search her face, probing and relentless. "I won't be able to make it until the end. To wait. That will make things terribly one-sided for now. Is that okay?"

So formal and so worried, right in the midst of foreplay. Chuckling, she eyed him up and down. "Okay? You're overthinking this," she whispered into his ear. "We have all night, remember? All night, I'm yours. I'm here for it all. Keep going."

His voice roughened. "Come to bed, then. I'm not going to have you again, after so bloody long, anywhere else."

Taking her by the hand, he led her to his bedroom, a spectacle of finished wood and willowy curtains. The bed was large enough for two and was covered with pillows of all sizes.

She giggled as he tossed two circular cushions onto the carpet and then swept off the rest. "Yes, I can definitely see what you took comfort in over the years―"

Spinning her back into his arms, he carefully lowered her onto the sheets. The mattress was incredibly soft.

Hair was falling into his eyes. She brushed it away from his forehead. "Memory foam, right?"

He chuckled. "Always inquisitive, even when I'm trying to make love to you."

She arched her neck. "Then make me stop talking."

His boxers pressed against her clothed hips as he hovered over her, his legs entangling with hers. Raking his eyes down her torso, he gave her a smile full of promise. Then his head nestled between her breasts, long overdue his attention.

The tip of his tongue traced the swells and curves, mapping out the tips. He lapped at her tender nipples soon enough, not letting his lips touch them yet, licking slowly.

Writhing, she pushed back into the bed, crying out his name. He groaned before taking each breast into his mouth and suckling.

"More," she moaned, fingers threading through his hair. Her hips ground up against his, her thighs aching, until she was almost rocketing off the bed. "More, Killian."

He obliged, sucking harder, his hand creeping downward until his fingers were a ripple between her thighs, goading her. The sweet tension in her belly became a barely restrained wave, reaching higher and higher until suddenly, it crashed down, washing over her senses. Whimpering, she held onto his shoulders as he led her down to earth, nibbling gently on the softening mounds.

She saw him grind his teeth together, jaw clenching. "I'm close, Emma...so close," he moaned lowly.

Before he could ask, she curled one hand around the nape of his neck, the other slipping inside his underwear. Judging by his size, he was incredibly close. She remembered.

After pulling him down for a kiss, she locked eyes with him as she began to stroke him, wary of moving too quickly or too tenderly. His back bowed, taut as a spring, before he sighed raggedly and collapsed on top of her.

Her hand was now wet. And she was still in her undies.

Closing his eyes, he hummed lightly, murmuring a sultry "Goddamn it, Emma."

"I always know best." She mustered a smile.

"Aye, you always do," he grinned back. His gaze sharpened, clear and true. "Gorgeous as ever when you come undone for me."

It was oddly comfortable and arousing, the way their bodies fit together. Every breath he gave, she took and returned.

And nothing was more compelling than a sated, content Killian Jones, who just so happened to keep nudging the apex of her thighs with new heat.

"Could I...have another?" she asked shyly.

Raising a brow, he spread her legs, slipping his hand between them. "As the lady wishes."

Several minutes later, her face was buried in his neck, muffling her repeated moans.

"Ah, that's my lass ― take it easy, now," he panted.

* * *

Rolling onto his side, he gathered her into his arms. Her lungs calmed, and she rested her head on his warm chest.

"What now?” His muscles tensed. “Does this mean that we...?"

"It means," she answered, pressing a kiss right over his heart, "that I want us to have a second chance. We don't have to go fast. But I want what we had ― what we've always had."

“Emma Swan.” He sounded like he couldn't believe what he was hearing but badly wanted to. “Is this your way of telling me that you want to be with me?”

“Yes,” she replied warily. Was he having second thoughts about her?

“But what about your apartment, your job, your friends, Boston ― Graham―”

“First off, we can make it all work,” she insisted. “And second of all ― there is no Graham, he's just a friend. I want to go on more dates with _you_ , talk to _you_ , be with _you_ ― have sex―”

“Of course you would mention that.”

“Killian!”

He flipped her on her back, hooking her arms over her head. “We haven't actually had sex yet, darling, though that can be arranged,” he said, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “I knew all along that you had an eye on my dashing self.” Freeing a hand from his grip, she poked him in the ribs. He bit back a laugh. “However, in all seriousness...is this really what you want? For us to try again?”

“Yes!” When his grin widened in delight, she rolled her eyes. “I can commute, too.”

“Or,” he smoldered, “you can live with me.”

“Wouldn't that be awkward?”

“Awkward? What's awkward? I have the queen-sized bed, the bloody penthouse ― you said you only have boxes―”

“Ugh, you're a damn tease.” She rolled on her side again, facing away from him.

His arms slowly encircled her, holding her close. His fingers entwined with hers, and she sighed while he lined kisses along the crook of her neck. “Like you said, we can work it all out, darling. We have all the time in the world. But what makes me happiest is hearing that I'm what you want. That there is an _us_.”

“So you feel the same, that I'm what you want? That I'm your happy ending?” He had once told her that, when she was eighteen and they had just started the romantic side of their relationship. For her, the hardest lesson to learn was that unconditional love really did exist ― and that somehow, she had found it and kept it safe within her heart, no matter what life threw in her way.

“Aye. My happy ending has always been, and always will be, you.”

* * *

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh my god, what a monster of a chapter! A final review or comment would be greatly appreciated - thank you for sticking with this story and waiting until the end. I hope you've enjoyed it from start to finish!
> 
> Again, I have a playlist for it with all mentioned songs in the chapters - and a few others - available on YouTube as the [Be My Angel, Be My Demon CS playlist](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kG2iMmccUds&list=PL_ZN9RnD0hhQ_-2vUY7II1onsX6ym3r2X&sns), if you'd like to listen to the music that provided a great deal of inspiration for this fic.
> 
> Finally, for news about my original fiction and other updates, please visit [my writing blog](https://nataliathewriter.blogspot.com).


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